


Commission for Confidence

by Wordsaremylife



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Artist Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, Slow Burn, aged up Peter parker, descriptions of injuries, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 09:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20307511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsaremylife/pseuds/Wordsaremylife
Summary: Y/N has been struggling with her self-esteem for years. After incessant pushing from your best friend, Y/N decides to commission an artist to draw her, expecting everything to happen via Internet. However, when your phone is stolen, you try to cancel the commission, but Peter Parker has other ideas. He quickly becomes enraptured by you, and a friendship forms easily. Will it lead to something more? Or will your past fears get in the way?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've decided to start posting on AO3 as well as on my Tumblr!!! If you're new here and want to start following me on Tumblr, my writing account is @writing-for-amusement  
Please enjoy this and let me know what you think!!!!

“Seriously, you need to do it! I know you never believe me, or anyone, when we tell you that you’re gorgeous, and I know you’re working on it. And I know that I never believed when you guys said it to me, but seriously,” your friend Monica stressed over video call. “Getting art of myself commissioned has done wonders for my self-esteem. And it’s not like you have to show up and sit there. You send in reference photos. The guy who did mine was absolutely amazing. His name is Peter, and I’m sending you his information. I seriously, seriously suggest it. Spend some money on you, Y/N! It’s totally worth it.”

You sighed deeply and tilted your head back. She’d been on this horse for at least half an hour now, for the third day in a row, but you had to admit that she did potentially have a point. It’s not like you hadn’t toyed with the idea in the past, but you’d always been just a little too strapped for money to risk the expense.

“Y/N,” Monica drew your attention again, “seriously. It is totally worth it. Please just think about it, okay? His art is amazing, and his prices are really fair. I sent you his information, just check him out, alright? You won’t regret it.”

“Alright, alright, you win, Monica,” you chuckled, noting her wide smile. “I’ll check out his art and let you know, okay?”

“Yay!” Monica cheered, the sudden loud noise shocking your ears.

Monica had certainly been right. This “Peter Parker” was incredibly talented. He seemed to do most of his commission work in charcoal or pencil. But it seemed that he liked to create art in other mediums, like chalk, paints of all sorts, watercolor pencils, oils, photography, a bit of sculpture work, and even some digital art more recently. His mixed medium pieces were her favorite ones to look at. He was really talented and had a decent number of followers.

But what _really_ drew you to him was that he showed his processes and his failures. You were never really intrigued by complete perfection, and while Instagram certainly stressed perfection, this guy seemed to shun that. Instead, he showed the nitty gritty of art making, the countless failures and trashed pieces. He showed his progress, and you found yourself falling in love with all of his work.

So, finally bogging down, you decided to send him an email.

_“Hello, Mr. Parker,_

_ I am Y/N, and I have recently fallen in love with your art after my friend suggested you. She recently had a piece commissioned from you and only had rave reviews. She knows how low my self-esteem can be at times, so she pushed me to reach out to you. Therefore, I was wondering if I could commission you to do full body artwork based on me? I figure that seeing myself as seen through the eyes of a talented artist, I could definitely find more beauty in myself. If you’re too busy, or simply wish to decline, I totally understand! You are very talented and seem very sweet and easy to work with._

_ Thank you very much, _

_ Y/N”_

After writing and rewriting the email, you finally decided to just bite the bullet and send the email. As you settled down with some popcorn to watch Netflix and finish up some work, you did _not_ expect to get an email. It read:

_“Hello Y/N!_

_ Please, call me Peter, ‘Mr. Parker’ is much too stuffy for my liking. Thank you so much, I am so glad you like my work! I’m also glad that you’re entrusting me to do work so personal to you. If you could just send me some reference photos of yourself, and then I’ll send over an audit for payment, then I’ll get to work!_

_ Thank you, I look forward to hearing from you,_

_ Peter”_

Blinking in surprise at the quick response, and the excitement written within it, you smiled and starred the email to look at again tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day ended up being much more hectic than you had anticipated. You woke up on time, but due to typical New York rain, your walk was littered with slips and multiple splashes. Not only that, your train ran late, and you were groped a surprising three times.

It was not a good day and it hadn’t even started yet.

You strode into work, dripping wet and with a mud stain on the bottom of your skirt and across your legs, but with your head held high.

You enjoyed your work as an editor for a publishing company. You’d moved from home to settle down in Manhattan for this job (though you were living in Queens); you had your own office with a view, and you were doing something you enjoyed. You got to read the fiction works and decide if it was good enough to move on and become a book (sometimes you got to help artists organize their works into a book). It was lovely for you, a wonderful job to have at what was considered a “young” age.

You dropped your bag on your desk and hurried to the break room. Arthur, a friend you had made immediately upon arrival, was refilling his coffee cup. He looked up at you and grinned, but that changed into concern when he saw your haggard appearance.

“Jesus, love, what happened? Shall I call up Charlie and have him bring you some clean clothes? They’ll be too big, of course, but—”

“It’s fine, Arthur!” you laughed, grabbing the coffee mug you had put into the break room. You poured yourself a large cup and just the smell started to warm your cold bones. “I’ll dry off soon enough.”

“This isn’t your old job, you know you can go home to change and won’t be punished, right?” Arthur asked with a chuckle on his lips.

You threw a sugar packet at him. “I know that, it’s not like I’m new here anymore! Besides, if I get sick, it’s not going to cost me a kidney and a leg because we have insurance.”

“No, it won’t do that,” he agreed as he picked up the packet.

“I’m getting to work,” you informed him, clutching the mug of coffee in your hands and scuttering to your office.

Work happened to be incredibly busy. There were more than thirty transcripts on your desk to work on, several of them rather thick. You actually ended up skipping lunch, instead snacking on an apple you had shoved in your purse before leaving your apartment. Of course, you were reminded of how you worked yourself to the bone when you first arrived at this job.

With the stressful echoes of your horrible old job ringing in your mind, you had worked harder than ever to prove yourself in NYC. Your supervisor was quick to notice how you showed up early and stayed late, reading and marking more than anyone. She pulled you aside, kindly informing you that she knew you were capable, otherwise you wouldn’t have been hired for the job. She also told you to “calm the fuck down” and that, “no one is judging you here, my dear.” It had been incredibly helpful to your adjustment.

Truth be told, you had wanted to hide from your horrible morning. When the day got off to such a rough start, you liked to hide yourself in the transcripts so that you could focus on potentially bolstering the dreams of the authors.

As it neared time to go home, your supervisor appeared at your door. “Hey, Y/N, go ahead and go home. I know you showed up soaked, you deserve an early start to the weekend. Go on, go.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go, Edith, I’ll go,” you sighed playfully. She smiled at you and blew a small kiss before walking off.

Knowing that it would be a simple night in for you, you grabbed some transcripts to look at over the weekend. With that, and your coffee mug washed, you walked out of the office and into the Manhattan late afternoon sunlight.

It was a calmer commute back to your apartment. At least, it was until you got home.

Your phone was gone.

It must have been taken while you were on the subway, even though you tried so hard to remain vigilant. Knowing New York City, it was gone forever now, and you needed to get to work on not letting people get your information from it.

You logged on to your laptop and quickly went to your phone provider, going through the steps outlined in the “Stolen Phone” section. Losing your phone was not ideal, but you had a plan that covered this situation, so it could have been worse. And, thankfully, you had just backed your phone up to the cloud when you were at work.

After filling out the proper steps, you went to your email inbox and sent out a mass email to your colleagues, letting them know that your phone had been stolen and to email you if they needed anything over the weekend. It was then that you remembered your plan to take reference photos for Peter.

With a sigh, you realized that it would be a better idea to postpone the commission than to keep the seemingly sweet Peter waiting. You began to compose your email, once again thinking too much and taking probably too long for what should have been a simple email. Still, you ended up with this:

_“Hi Peter,_

_ I am so sorry, but today my phone was stolen thanks to the _ever_ so amazing New York City subway. I unfortunately do not have another way to take reference photos (none of my friends are available), and I don’t want to fill a spot for your commission that won’t be able to be finished for a while, because my phone is being shipped and won’t be in for about a week. Therefore, so I don’t waste your time, I need to cancel the commission. I’m sorry if I _did _waste your time._

_ Thank you for your understanding, Peter. Perhaps I can commission you (for realsies) in the future. I still love your art, btw._

_ Y/N”_

With a deep sigh, you ran a hand through your hair and sent Monica a message on Facebook, explaining the situation. She, of course, sent back multiple sad face emojis, but was overall understanding. Then she offered to hunt down whoever stole your phone and beat them up for making you stressed, which made you laugh.

You ordered some Thai food so that you wouldn’t have to make anything. After the day you’d had, the last thing you wanted was to get sweaty from standing over the hot stove.

As you settled into your couch to wait, with your laptop open next to you so you could message Monica, you got a notification for another email. You saw it was from Peter, and a melancholy smile touched your face.

_“Hi Y/N!_

_ Omg you live in the NYC area too??? In that case, if you’re comfortable with it, we could actually do your stuff in person! Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course, and I’d like to meet for coffee before we begin. Getting to know my muse is my favorite part of commissions; usually I just ask questions via email, but this way, we both get coffee!!_

_ Please let me know if you’d be interested in meeting up for coffee in Manhattan this weekend; I think it would be very beneficial._

_ Thanks, and (hopefully) see you soon!_

_ Peter”_

You blinked in surprise after reading the email fifteen times.

Peter was certainly passionate about art _and_ about coffee. Though you didn’t blame him, because as an artist who went through a prestigious university, Peter probably lived almost solely on the beverage for four years. You debated whether you should take him up on his offer, because, well, you _did_ want to meet him.

You were still thinking about it when you turned on your TV and selected the HULU app. You were still thinking about it when you picked a random episode of _The Golden Girls._ And you were still thinking about it when you answered your door for your takeout.

Finally, as you began to dig into your food, you made your decision. With your takeout container in one hand, you replied to Peter’s email with the other. You suggested your favorite coffee shop, Constellation Bakery and Café, and suggested meeting tomorrow. The ambiance was calm and friendly, so you thought it would be a good meeting place.

After informing Monica of the change in plans, you ate your Thai takeout with a vigor you didn’t know you had. The food was exceptionally delicious today, and the cooks always gave you extra shrimp in your shrimp pad Thai. The comforting food warmed you to the core, and you felt a lot more relaxed than you had in days, even weeks.

Before you went to bed, you got a reply from Peter, agreeing to meet with you at the coffee shop at 1 p.m. With an excited smile on your face, you actually fell asleep easily.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, you got up and took a comfortable shower. Your apartment may be small, but it had wonderful plumbing and a shower/tub you could actually move around in.

With your laptop open on the counter, you cooked yourself a small breakfast and had _The Golden Girls_ playing as you did. Then, despite knowing it was a casual meeting with a complete stranger, you agonized over your casual outfit for the late spring day.

Finally deciding on your favorite shorts and a comfortable Wonder Woman tank top, you looked in your mirror. Remembering what you’d always been told in therapy, you said three positive things about yourself: “My thighs are powerful and strong. I can lift heavy objects when I need to. My laugh is genuine.”

Satisfied with your little exercise in self-love (it was a process and some days were much harder than others), you brushed your teeth and styled your hair the way you liked it. With still time to spare, you gathered your things and finished your episode, chuckling at Sophia’s sharp insults.

As you left your apartment and locked the door, you tried to calm your nerves. You were always nervous when you were meeting new people, and this was certainly not going to be an exception. You were glad that you were getting coffee, as having something to hold in your hands would help you stop fidgeting.

On the subway, you overheard a few people talking about Spider-Man’s latest save. The superhero had been saving Queens (and other places) for years before you had moved there, but you still hadn’t seen him. You’d heard plenty about him, fun anecdotes from colleagues or people in shops, but you had never seen the superhero in person.

You thought back to the first time you’d seen _anything_ about Spider-Man, years ago when the hero was just a YouTube star. And you recalled him helping Tony Stark and the Avengers at large, and his escapades in Europe. Still, after all that, he seemed to always call Queens home. It was, if anything, intriguing.

You arrived at the café early, though you had anticipated that. You always left home early when traveling into the heart of Manhattan, just in case there were accidents or delays. So, content with your extra time to yourself, you ordered your usual beverage and sat down with your laptop and a manuscript in your hands.

It was a little past 1 p.m. when you heard someone clear their throat to get your attention. You looked up, suddenly aware that you had the tip of your pen in your mouth, and then you saw a man standing in front of you with a cup of coffee and a bag on his shoulder.

He was definitely handsome. His hair was a medium brown with fluffy curls, but his eyes were a darker brown that you could see yourself getting lost in. And, as with most men, his eyelashes were unfairly long. He had a bright smile on his face, and it made your traitorous heart flutter; you could see his freckles. The man was obviously fit, his arms toned from what you could see; his nerdy shirt make you chuckle to yourself.

The general vibe you got from him was warm, kind, and accepting.

“Are you Y/N?” he asked you as he smile shifted into a grin.

“Ah, yes, that’s me!” you stuttered slightly, moving your stuff around on the table. “Are you Peter Parker?”

“Indeed, I am,” he stated, sitting in the chair next to you instead of the one across from you. You were occupying yourself with getting your things out of the way, and your normal apology left your lips.

“I’m so sorry, I generally spread out when I’m working on something good, I should have just left the work alone, so sorry,” you spewed, rambling nervous apologies.

You had a feeling that Peter Parker would be cute, but for him to be this deviously handsome _and_ cute had you definitively flustered.

“No apologies needed,” Peter reassured you, resting his elbows on the table. “You really weren’t that spread out, especially not on such a small table.” He held his hand out for you, and you shook it, the warmth creeping up your wrist.

You chuckled nervously and shoved your pen back in your bag. “So,” you began gently, “how are you today?”

“I’m marvelous,” he replied, taking a sip of his coffee and glancing at you over the top of the cup. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m actually really good!” you beamed, thumbing your own cup. “I had a really good morning, actually. My commute was surprisingly sparse for a Saturday.”

“Where do you commute from?” Peter asked with a tilt of his head.

“Queens,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. You were surprised and almost choked when Peter burst into loud laughter.

“We could have met up in Queens!” he explained as he finished laughing. The sound had made your heart skip, but you ignored it. “I live in Queens.”

You laughed lightly, saying, “Well, now we know!”

Peter finished laughing and watched you carefully. You sipped your drink and forced yourself to remain calm in the less awkward situation the man had created.

“You are just,” Peter paused, seeming to try to find the best word, “so cute!” he finished, making a gesture with his hands for emphasis.

You felt your cheeks warm and you looked away with a small chuckle. “Well, you’re pretty handsome yourself.”

“Thanks,” he blushed adorably.

Because _of course_ he blushed adorably.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he requested, pulling a sketchbook out of his bag. “Hope you don’t mind if I take some notes?”

“N-no, not at all!” you reassured him. “Um, well, what would you like to know?”

“Everything,” Peter told you with a gleam in his eyes.

You blinked slightly before going into a stumbling explanation of your life. You told him about how you’d moved to New York for work, and that got you into how much you’d always loved reading about anything and everything (except math), and how you loved your job being an editor and helping budding authors and artists.

“I just recently started reading a draft about a society that revolves around plants and flowers, and it involves a lot of floriography, the meaning of flowers and plants, and it specifically talks about how this one expert is getting tied up between two mafias because both are asking for arrangements from them to send to the other as messages, you know—” you cut yourself off abruptly. “I’m sorry, that’s not important.”

“No, no!” Peter protested, giving you a reassuring smile. There was a glimmer in his eye that you couldn’t quite place, and you couldn’t see what he was writing. “I think it’s great. The way you talk about books and tell stories makes me want to read them. You’re a talented storyteller, Y/N,” he smiled.

You chuckled, taking a sip from your coffee, “I’ve always been a rather animated storyteller,” you admitted. “When I send videos to my friends on Snapchat, they get upset when they send out of order.”

“Tell me about a time where you were, oh, amazed by something,” Peter suggested.

You pursed your lips in thought. “I once got to hike on an island in the Pacific,” you began, thinking back on the memory. “It was for work, believe it or not, and I got to check out this amazing sleeping volcano. And as I stood at the top, looking out on a cove below, I couldn’t believe it. The sun was beginning to set, creating this beautiful sky over the ocean. It made me feel… small, but comforted, as if I was being hugged by a close friend. And, Peter, those colors, I think I cried.

“The sun created this magnificent amalgam of the softest of pinks, the most vivid of violets, and the sweetest of blues, all blending together in some sort of wonderful symphony of serenity. The orange in the sky, fading softly, was like an orange dreamsicle, at that point between frozen and melting. And the ocean, it glittered _gold_ as if with thousands of fireflies gliding across the calm waves.”

You looked up to see Peter just watching you, perching his chin on his hand and regarding you with the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“What?” you asked, a small blush tipping your ears.

“Can I take you back to my place?” he blurted.

“What?!” you were shocked at his bluntness.

“For art!” he continued quickly, his face turning bright red and his eyes widening comically, almost like a cartoon.

You found yourself laughing brightly, your eyes closed in mirth and your head tilted backwards. You enjoyed spending time with Peter already, and you had only been talking for about an hour. He was a sweet guy, paying attention to what you said with the most beautiful light in his gentle brown eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he pouted, “laugh it up. I’m just going to sit here, embarrassed, and try to think of a way to redeem myself in your eyes.”

You managed to wrangle your laughter into small chuckles, covering your smile with a hand as you looked at the man across from you. Peter was pouting playfully, his arms crossed over his chest. It was obvious that he was joking, however, because he kept glancing at you and his lips twitched to stop him from smiling.

“How do I know that you’re not a serial killer?” you asked, tilting your head and regarding him in mock seriousness.

“Well then,” he leaned forward, meeting your eyes dead on, “perhaps Spider-Man will come save you.”

Your head tilted back again as you laughed, though not for as long as before. “You know, I’ve lived her awhile now, and I still haven’t even _seen_ Spider-Man in person.”

“Really?” Peter was obviously surprised, with once again comically large eyes.

“Yes, really,” you confirmed with a nod. “I never seem to be around where he is at any given time. I hear stories about him, though, all the time. Heard some on the subway here. He seems like a nice guy, if a little reckless sometimes.”

“Reckless?”

You nearly rolled your eyes at his almost offended tone, but truly, he seemed more intrigued than anything else. “I saw a video of him throwing not one, but _two_ cars at an enemy. That is, admittedly, a little reckless when there are tons of people running around, trying to get away.”

Peter seemed to think about what you said, having a conversation with himself in his head that was obvious by the shifting of his facial expressions. Finally, the man seemed to heave a sigh, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I guess he is a little reckless sometimes,” Peter nodded, as if he knew the hero personally. You almost asked if he did, but he changed the subject by continuing, “So, would you like to be a live model for me? I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

You pursed your lips and looked off to the side, pretending to think intently about the idea. You almost broke character when you say him shift nervously but managed to keep yourself in check. You should be an actress, you thought.

Finally, after what couldn’t have been more than a minute, you looked at Peter with a bright smile. “Alright, Peter, I’ll be a model. Though I’m sure I’m not anywhere near the prettiest model you’ve ever had, I’ll do my best.”

You both stood and you didn’t miss Peter’s furrowed brows at your comment. You hoped that he would drop it, as you were already regretting saying that you weren’t pretty. You knew that it wasn’t true, but oftentimes your anxiety and history of self-deprecation got right ahead of you. Today, you were actually doing okay, other than that one slip of the tongue that you’d uttered to a gorgeous man.

Then again, sometimes the smallest of things could set you back three years.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter helped you gather your things and waited patiently as you gave a bright thank you to the owner, Morgana. Then, he was holding the door open to you with a bright smile.

“So,” you prompted as you both started towards the subway.

“So,” he echoed, sending you a playful grin.

“We talked so much about me,” you pointed out, “so why don’t you tell me more about you? If I may be so bold, I’d like to become actual friends with you, instead of just minor acquaintances.”

Peter turned to face you, walking sideways, and was beaming so bright you thought you’d need sunglasses. “Really??? I feel the same way!”

You blushed slightly, looking at the ground for a brief moment. “I’m glad,” you admitted in a murmur.

Soon, the two of you were entering the subway, intent on getting back to Queens before the amount of people traveling got _worse_.

“So,” Peter began, letting you take a seat as he stood in front of you in the rather crowded car, “I’m trying to think of what medium to capture you in.”

You blinked in surprise.

“I mean, there is a raw beauty to just charcoal or regular pencil, but you are so vibrant and gorgeous, I want to do something _more._”

Peter was staring out the window in thought as the heat filled your cheeks, neck, and chest. You bit your lip to try and stop the squeal or giggle of happiness from leaking out (you couldn’t tell what it would be, so you kept your mouth _shut_). You found yourself looking up at Peter, noticing how he himself would make a great model for any type of art.

Brown eyes suddenly looked at yours and you were thankful that the subway was coming to the next stop. It gave you an excuse to look away, his curious gaze making you feel tingles up your spine. As a tired mother entered with two small children in tow, you and another passenger quickly got up and let them take your seats.

Now, you were standing almost chest to chest with Peter Parker. You awkwardly tried to shuffle around him, so that you were standing next to him, but another passenger quickly took that spot. That left you right there, closer to Peter than you thought you’d ever get.

“Hi,” he blushed down at you.

“H-hello,” you stuttered. “So, you were saying?”

Your weak attempt at saving face actually worked, and Peter began to talk you through the pros and cons of other mediums of art. You found yourself to be incredibly intrigued by the way that Peter spoke.

He spoke so passionately that you could basically see the different aspects of each medium before your eyes. You could see brushes of acrylic paint, or the subtle blurring of watercolors, as he went into greater detail than you almost thought possible.

“Of course, photography will always hold a place in my heart, but sometimes you can’t capture the same emotions as you could with actually making the art yourself. The best part of photography, though, is when you—”

Peter was cut off as the subway car jerked and you fell into him in shock. You had never been particularly graceful, but at least this time it wasn’t your fault. You expected to knock him over; he was a fit man, but you knew you had some heft to you, especially with _that_ violent of a jerk. Something like that would make you, or really anyone, knock over even the largest of men, you were certain of it.

To your surprise, Peter caught you easily, not even moving his feet as he was clutching you to his body. His hand was like comforting and warm candle fire on your waist, slowly heating your muscles. Beautiful brown eyes regarded you with concern.

“Are you okay, Y/N? That was quite the jerk. They’re normally not that bad.”

You nodded sheepishly, removing your hand from where it was splayed on his firm chest. You cleared your throat and took a slight step back, nearly regretting it as the warmth seeped out of your waist slowly.

“Thanks, Peter,” you smiled, albeit a little nervously. “I definitely would have fallen over if you weren’t there.”

“Well,” Peter began, smirking at you, “I can tell you that I’ll be here to catch you, anytime you need it.”

You giggled, covering your smile with your hand. “Then I hope you’re around a lot, because I’m the clumsiest person around,” you told him, realizing as soon as it left your mouth that it was _incredibly_ flirty, at least for you.

Peter was looking at you with a look you couldn’t decipher, but his mouth was grinning. “Hey, I won’t complain about that.”

The heat rushed through your body and you looked at the floor, trying to calm your stampeding heart. Your throat felt a little dry, not expecting his response. You looked up and saw a skinny little thing staring at you with contempt, and your heart crashed to the ground.

Your brain quickly clouded over with negative thoughts. _Of course, she’s staring, you’d never fit in with a guy like Peter. Look at him, he’s gorgeous and fit. And you are definitely not. She thinks you’re crazy for flirting with him. And you are crazy for flirting with him. He’d never go for a girl like you, you’re not his type._

**_Now wait just a minute,_** you interrupted the hissing whisper, **_how do I know what his type is? You can’t just assume someone’s type, you know._**

_Doesn’t matter,_ the hiss replied easily, _anything as big and jiggly as you are is never anyone’s type. You should know that by now._

You ended up heaving a sigh, the hissing getting louder and louder in your head. It was blocking out every positive thought you’d ever had about yourself, pointing out the jiggle in your thighs, the fat of your stomach, the stretch marks that decorated your skin. It pointed out how your laugh was too loud, your smile too big, your fingers too fat, your cheeks unnecessarily full. The clouds became a storm, torrential rains freezing your body, turning your blood into the slowest river in the world.

“Hey,” a shining light of a voice broke through the storm, making you look up at Peter. “Are you okay?” he asked, his hand brushing your arm.

The tingles that his touch brought started to drop-kick the clouds from the forefront of your mind. Peter was looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite tell, but it was like he could tell you were upset about yourself, like he would tear the world to pieces to make you feel better. It made your heart crack, fighting to escape your chest and screech to the world that you were beautiful and worthy.

Because that’s how his gaze made you feel.

You suddenly brightened, the clouds on the far horizons of your mind as they always were, but they were done storming and flooding. “Yeah, Peter, I’m alright,” you told him sincerely, a small but genuine smile on your lips.

Peter’s molten brown eyes assessed you critically, making your body warm and thaw from that freezing storm. After a few more moments, and the subway car nearing your stop, Peter seemed content with your answer. He gave you the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

The car came to a stop and Peter gestured for you to get off the car. As you fought the crowd of people entering, Peter hooked his pinky in yours in order to stay together. It made your stupid heart flutter up to your throat, but you managed to swallow it back down.

The two of you broke through the crowds and Peter unhooked his pinky from yours. The loud pounding of your heart began to quiet as you and Peter made your way out of the subway; the “fresh” air of the outside (as fresh as it could get, of course) helped clear your mind a bit and you relaxed ever so slightly.

Peter started leading the way to his apartment, which was in the same direction as yours. “The place is kinda a mess,” he informed you as you walked next to him, “but it’s not too bad. Mostly just a couple of unfinished works running around.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” you told him, stepping farther into the sidewalk as a crowd of people walking the opposite direction tried to take over the small space.

“I grew up in Queens,” Peter stated, and when you looked at him, he was scowling slightly, “but lately, all these crowds have been even more rude than usual.”

You chuckled lightly and shrugged your shoulders. “You grew up in Queens, huh? So, you were here when Spider-Man became a thing, yeah?”

If you didn’t know any better, Peter’s shoulders tensed as he waited for the streetlight to change. Then, an almost nervous chuckle flitted over to your ears.

“Yeah, I remember. I saw him swinging around in that cheap ass suit one day after school. How embarrassing for him.” Peter’s ears turned a light pink color.

You hummed in thought slightly, glancing at him as he glanced at you. “I liked that first suit, actually,” you admitted. “I mean, obviously it wasn’t as effective as his following ones, but I’ve always admired homemade creations. It was creative in its design, at least I always thought so from the YouTube videos I’d seen.”

“For real?” Peter asked as you began to cross the street.

“Yeah.”

You were surprised when Peter began to laugh, pulling you into him by your shoulders as you walked. Your heart plummeted as he appeared to laugh at you.

“I’m glad someone liked it!” Peter then said, removing his arm and grinning at you. Your heart slowly began to clamber back up to its new home in your throat. “Especially someone with such good taste as you!”

Your heart raced to your throat like a mountain goat on the hunt for the sweetest grass at the top of the mountain. With your heart came a rush of blood and warmth.

God, you really needed to get it together. You didn’t know how you were supposed to survive around such a sweet man, with such a bright personality.

Eventually, you and Peter made it to his apartment building, which was closer to the subway than your own. He kept you entertained for the short walk, regaling amusing stories from high school and college. You learned of his best friend and now roommate, Ned Leeds, rather early on in the conversation. And you learned that he absolutely _adored_ his Aunt May.

Peter opened the door for you, and you thanked him with a dramatic bow of your upper body, your nerves tingling happily as he laughed and copied your gesture. He introduced you to the doorman (making you realize that this was a _really_ nice building) before pressing the button to call the elevator.

“Geez, this is a nice building,” you remarked as you stepped into the elevator. “The elevator in my building has been out for like three months.”

Peter chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, well, I haven’t told you about my full-time job yet.”

“I didn’t know a building this nice _existed_ in Queens,” you muttered to yourself, though you were exaggerating just a little.

“I work for Stark Industries,” Peter stated, making your head snap over to him. “I-I started an internship when I was in high school,” he explained nervously, shuffling his feet. “And through college, I worked there too. And now I have a full job with Mrs. Potts-Stark.”

You tilted your head in thought, thoroughly impressed. “Wow, I knew you were smart, but damn, you’re a full-blown genius!”

Peter’s blush crept up the back of his neck and he shifted again, obviously sheepish. He muttered out a shy, “Thanks,” along with a sweet smile. “The great thing about my job, is that it actually leaves a lot of time for my creative endeavors. Mrs. Potts-Stark makes sure of it, actually; she’s very big on preventing burnout.”

“Stark Industries, man, they’re prestigious! I’ve always admired Mrs. Potts-Stark,” you continued as the elevator opened and you both walked out. “She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever read about. She’s so strong, too. And not to mention Tony Stark. I always knew that he wasn’t as selfish as the media made him out to be; I once did research on Howard Stark, and honestly, Tony Stark, before and after developing weapons, makes so much psychological sense. Some people only point out his faults, like his ego or oversight. They say this like it makes him a bad man. I say that he was a great man, _with_ his faults.”

Peter was staring at you, his jaw slightly agape, and there seemed to be tears in his eyes. Concerned, you stepped forward and tilted your head to look into his eyes.

“Peter? Are you okay?” you asked gently.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, closing his jaw. Slowly, a smile made its way to his cheeks. “I, um, I was very close with, with Mr. Stark. Sometimes, it’s hard to hear people talk about him like he was this perfect human, or like he was the worst man ever. But, just, hearing you talk about him like that? It means a lot. Y/N, it—it makes me so happy.”

Your hand twitched as you ached to wipe the happy tear from his cheek. You kept it down, instead pulling out a handkerchief and giving it to him. Peter took it from you and glanced between it and you before chuckling wetly.

“You owning a handkerchief is so on-brand,” he chuckled as he wiped his tears quickly. Quite unfairly, it almost looked like he’d never been crying at all.

You chuckled nervously and shifted your weight back and forth. “Sometimes, it makes life a lot easier.” As he tried to hand it back to you, you held up your hands and waved them a bit for added emphasis. “No, no, it’s okay. You keep it. I have… I have more at home,” you ended in a shy whisper, almost not wanting to say it aloud at all because you’d been made fun of before.

“How many?” Peter asked, no trace of malice in his voice. “Enough to be a proper damsel in distress?” This time, he grinned at you before turning to get to his apartment.

“I’m not a damsel,” you scoffed playfully. “Nor am I proper. I’m in distress at lot, but it’s mostly internal,” you chuckled. You waited behind Peter as he unlocked his apartment door (it was painted a dark red, and you quite liked it).

“I’ll have to introduce you to Pepper sometime,” Peter said as he let you inside. “I think you’d both get along really well.”

It was then that it _really_ sunk in for you. You were about to go into the apartment of a man that you met just a few hours ago. While you were fairly certain Peter wasn’t a serial killer, you were worried about what this evening would bring. With your awkwardness, you thought it to be quite possible that the sweet and passionate Peter would kick you out.


	5. Chapter 5

You chuckled nervously as you looked around the entrance to his apartment. It was a _really_ nice place, especially for New York. It paid to work for Stark Industries, that was for sure. It was relatively open, not quite a studio apartment in its setup but akin to one, and there was a lovely view—via ceiling to floor windows—of the tops of a few buildings and the windows of a few others.

“Karen, lights,” Peter said as he toed off his shoes. The lights came on immediately, giving the apartment a warm and comforting glow.

“Karen?” you asked him, tilting your head in confusion as you began to remove your own shoes and place them by the door.

_“Yes?”_ a feminine voice replied, making you jump in surprise.

“O-oh, hello?” you asked, unsure of what sort of social protocol came with talking to disembodied voices.

_“Peter, is this a new friend?”_ the voice asked.

“Y-yeah,” Peter chuckled, patting you reassuringly on the back. “Karen is this AI that, uh, Tony and I developed. She’s kinda like Siri or Alexa, but better, in my opinion.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding. You cleared your throat a bit and said, “Um, Karen? Can I call you Karen?”

_“Of course,”_ Karen replied. _“Did you need anything?”_

“Um, I’m Y/N,” you told the AI, “and I was wondering… how are you?”

_“I’m wonderful, Y/N, thank you for asking,”_ she said with what seemed to be amusement or affection in her voice, though you weren’t sure. _“Are you a new friend of Peter’s? He didn’t tell me he made a new friend.”_

“Yeah, we’re friends,” you smiled at Peter, who blushed slightly. “Karen, what all can you do? If you don’t mind my asking.”

_“Of course not. I can control all technology in the apartment, surf the web, read the temperature of the apartment and outside, and I’m connected to Peter’s phone and his place at Stark Industries, so he can ask me to do things while he’s out and about. And I can do many other things.”_

“You’re so talented!”

_“Peter, I like her. She has good taste.”_

As heat gathered in your cheeks, Peter said, “She has the best taste. Actually, Y/N is going to be my newest model for some art! She commissioned me and I want to really explore the mediums to best capture her beauty.”

_“It’s been awhile since you’ve done something like that, Peter,”_ Karen said. Peter’s ears turned red and he sheepishly avoided your gaze as he continued farther into his home.

You followed him in while he made a beeline to his kitchen, which was open; once you stepped into the apartment, there were three steps to the side and down to the wall. The kitchen was up the steps, and the counter that went between the kitchen and the rest of the apartment had a few stools placed there, safely away from the steps, to make a little breakfast bar sort of thing. Though at the moment, it looked to be a holding spot for a lot of mail.

“Ned’s out of town for work for a few more days, so his mail has been piling up,” Peter explained as he stuck his head into the fridge. It was almost like he was trying to cool off his cheeks. “I know most of his mail is junk, but it’s so much fun to watch his face when he sees the mail piled up like that, only to discover it’s mostly junk.”

“Hey, we all have our things,” you said with a shrug. You’d walked farther in, noticing that the living and dining rooms sort of blended together. There was a hallway between the kitchen and what you assumed to be Peter’s little art studio (judging by the easels and drying canvases).

“Do you want something to drink? I’ve got, uh, water, milk, orange juice, a beer, I could make coffee or tea, uh… Ned has like two cans of tomato juice, but I don’t know why, that stuff is not that good,” Peter’s voice said from the fridge.

“Um, water is fine. With a little ice, please?”

“No problem.”

You continued to look around, finding the décor to be fittingly Peter. The apartment itself was _really_ nice, but the furniture betrayed that Peter and Ned were in their twenties. It wasn’t matching at all, but it managed to go together in an endearing sort of way. Instead of carpeting in the living room, there were rugs layered almost tastefully, and the cutoff is what separated the dining and living rooms. There was a bookshelf in the back corner of the living room that you itched to go explore, but you didn’t want to be rude (you knew how personal bookshelves could be).

You ventured a bit farther into the apartment, looking at the pictures on the wall. The wall to the left of the window, closer to the bookshelf, had framed photos. There were cute group photos that made you smile. Then, some people that were in the group photos had solo photos, very artfully done (you could tell that Peter had done them).

Your favorite photo was of a woman’s profile (perhaps it was his Aunt May?) as she looked upon a park with trees. You could see the emotions she was feeling in her eyes, and she truly looked to be at ease. And, something else you loved, was that the photo was set up so that it looked like she was looking out of the window at the colorful buildings outside. You could see her freckles, and the small lines around her mouth that showed she spent a lot of her life smiling. That fact, actually, you could tell by the photo itself.

“That’s my Aunt May,” Peter said from right behind you, making you _physically jump_ in place. You steadied yourself against the wall with one hand while the other clutched your chest as you tried to lasso your bucking heart.

“Sorry,” he grinned at you, offering you a mug that had the Spider-Man logo on it, with ice and water inside. “Sorry about the mug, too,” he chuckled slightly, “the rest of the stuff is dirty, I forgot to actually _turn on_ the dishwasher before I left.”

“Set it up and forgot to press start?” you asked. He nodded. “I do that _all the time._”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty consistent occurrence with me!” he laughed.

You took the mug with a thank you and shuffled yourself over to the wall to the right of the window to see the stuff there. You went up the three little steps and onto the hardwood floor so you could see the stuff on the walls, but Peter’s “studio” actually began where he’d laid down a large tarp to protect the floors.

You focused on the wall as Peter nervously scampered towards the studio to occupy himself with something as you were engrossed with the artwork on the walls.

The artwork on the walls, framed and not, were absolutely _stunning._ You’d seen some of the work on his Instagram, but they were even better in person, if that was even possible. There were two or three gorgeous photos of landscapes, but they were surrounded by other pieces of all mediums.

You found your favorite piece from his Instagram on the wall, a watercolor-esque piece that, as you recalled from the Instagram post, was also done with watercolor pencils. It was as if Peter had been sitting on an incredibly tall building, looking out onto the water on a rainy day. It had a lot of grays, but it was still incredibly _vibrant_. Now that you could see it in person, you saw that there were the softest of purples and reds going into the harbor, and the faintest of yellows and oranges in the gray sky.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Peter asked, surprising you again.

“Hm?” You turned to him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Peter cupped your cheek and rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. It was then that you realized you had been crying.

Your entire body recoiled from Peter in shock, almost spilling the water from your mug, when you realized _that_ is what he meant, quickly wiping your cheeks. “I am so sorry,” you stammered, shaking your head to revive yourself. “I’m sorry, wow, I didn’t even realize… This painting, it’s just, it was my favorite on your Instagram, and seeing it up close, I can see so much more than I could online. And it just, I guess it just reminds me of my journey through mental illness.”

Peter tilted his head, silently asking you to explain.

“This piece is kinda dreary, you know? I mean, you obviously do because you painted it, but, anyway.” You inhaled and tried to calm yourself. “So, it’s kinda dreary, and demure. Like how my brain has been for most of my life. But there’s still bright pieces, bright colors, coming through the grays. And those brighter colors also _blend_ into the gray. It’s not two different entities, it all comes together to create _one_ gorgeous painting. Like how all parts of my personality come together to make me, vibrant and living even with this pesky depression and anxiety I’ve always had.” You looked at Peter and smiled, noting his eyes widen and brighten. “You’re so talented, Peter.”

His face slowly morphed into a tomato and he kept glancing between the floor and your eyes. “I…” he began before clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled again.

“So,” he cleared his throat again, “do you want to check out the rest of the apartment, or do you want to kinda get to work, or?” He trailed off, looking out the window with furrowed brows. Your hands itched to smooth out the wrinkles, but you stopped yourself, instead thumbing the mug in your hands.

“Let’s get to work, how’s that?” you asked rhetorically. “Uh, how _does_ this work?”

Peter chuckled and gently took your hand to lead you to the little “studio” he had setup. The back wall, which it shared with the hallway, had unfinished works spread across it, both hanging and leaning. You found that to be artistic in and of itself.

There was a big bookcase and several shelves that held supplies, and the back corner had piles of canvases and pieces of paper. One shelf was cramped and overflowing with sketchbooks. There was an easel that could be shifted around, and a stool for Peter to sit on while he worked. It appeared to be a cozy place for Peter to work; even if it was a bit small, it was moldable, easy to transform to Peter’s needs.

“I love this!” you said brightly as you looked around.

“Thanks,” Peter blushed a bit.

“So, how do you want me?” you asked as he deliberated in front of his supplies.

After a few moments of silence, Peter seemed to register what you said. He grabbed something you couldn’t quite see and was fiddling with it as he said, “Could you move the stool to be closer to the window and sit on it, please?”

“Sure,” you replied easily. You placed it around where you thought he wanted it and heaved yourself on, being careful not to overbalance and fall off. You held the mug in both hands, looking down at the slightly bobbing ice.

“Gorgeous,” Peter breathed loud enough for you to hear, and you looked up to see him now watching you, a camera wrapped around his neck. His blush was the most endearing thing you’d ever seen, and he quickly began to fiddle with his camera again.

“Photos first?” you asked, sipping your water to hide the smirk you’d created once you’d seen that adorable blush.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, stepping a bit closer. “I figured, well, if inspiration strikes in the middle of the night, I could always, you know, look at some photos.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me over in the middle of the night?” you asked boldly, raising a brow and trying to stop yourself from visibly freaking out at your actions.

If possible, his face reddened even more, and he nearly tripped over his feet. You chuckled lightly, sipping your water gingerly. Instead of saying anything, you let Peter regain his composure, though what happened next nearly made you spit out your water.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to wake you up and make you get out of my warm bed,” Peter said smoothly, the red slowly fading from his face.

You nearly choked on the water but managed to keep it in your mouth _and_ in the mug, and you certainly didn’t miss Peter’s smirk. This was certainly going to be an _interesting_ art partnership, and hopefully a long-lasting, laughter filled friendship would blossom as well. That was all you would let yourself hope for at that moment.


	6. Chapter 6

“H-how about we get started?” you asked rhetorically. “How do you want me?”

“Uh, just sort of relax, don’t mind me, I’ll be pretty quick with the camera,” Peter said, putting the camera up to his face.

Rather awkwardly, you shifted slightly, looking at your mug. With a quick idea in your mind, you put the mug next to your face and turned, pretending to kiss Spider-Man’s logo while looking at the camera.

Peter almost tripped over his feet again, but you chalked it up to a spare pencil that was on the floor.

“Why don’t you tell me about your favorite place?” Peter asked as the shutter clicked.

You puffed your cheeks as you tried to think, blowing out the air as you made your decision. “I have this little spot in my apartment,” you began, glancing out the window and holding the mug to your chest. “It’s in my closet, under the corner shelves, which are kinda wide. I can fit down there, along with my laptop and some snacks. Maybe I could even fit another person in there, I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”

“What do you do there?” Peter prompted you to continue.

You smiled gently as you thought about how comforted the spot made you feel. “I have some blankets draped over the shelves to close it off from light. I taped a bunch of little fairy lights to the top and along the walls, and I piled a bunch of pillows and blankets down there. When I’m feeling down, or like everything is too much, I can go to that little spot and shut out the rest of the world. It’s really comfy and makes me feel safe.”

“Sounds like it,” Peter hummed. “Look this way, please.”

You turned your head and smiled at Peter’s sincere response. “Maybe someday you’ll get to see it. It’s a nice little hidey hole.”

“I’d be honored,” he grinned at you.

After a few more minutes of Peter asking you to pose your arms and face various ways, he asked you to stand up and put the mug on the stool.

“Oooooh,” you teased, “we’re mixing it up.”

“Gotta stay on your toes,” he replied easily. “Stand against the wall as comfortably as you can, try not to look stiff.”

As you followed his directions, you said, “You know, Peter, by telling me to not look stiff, I’m gonna look stiff. You know that, right?”

Peter chuckled and let his camera hang from his neck. He crossed towards you and guided you into a leaning position instead of a standing one. Your body was angled to the window, and he positioned your right arm to be slightly above your head against the wall.

You tried to keep your pulse and your breathing under control, but it was hard when Peter was making you so aware of _everything you’d ever done._ He smelled faintly of the coffee shop from earlier, and also just slightly of some sort of sweet fruity bodywash. Your hands wanted nothing more to cup his gorgeous jaw, but you kept your body posed the way he wanted it.

“Perfect,” he whispered, looking down at you. You looked down to avoid bursting into flames from the intensity of his look.

After a few more moments, Peter moved away from you and you felt like you could breathe again. He talked aimlessly to you, his voice getting you to relax, as he snapped a few more photos. After a joke about the elements had you laughing with your head thrown back, Peter announced that he was done with the photography portion.

“Now what?” you asked, picking your mug up and taking a long drink.

“Well—” Peter stopped as he looked at his watch. “Actually, can I walk you home really quick? I just remembered I have something to do.”

“Ah, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he reassured you, quickly putting away his camera and heading to the door. You followed, a little surprised by his longer-than-normal strides.

The two of you quickly put on your shoes and you made sure you had all your stuff. Peter opened the door and let you out, quickly shutting and locking the door after asking Karen to turn off all the lights. You almost couldn’t keep up with Peter because he was walking so fast and you didn’t have his long stride.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you waited for the elevator.

“It’s alright, I run late more than I’d like,” you waved off his apology.

Sooner than you knew, you and Peter were walking down the sidewalk, and a more comfortable pace than before. Peter kept you entertained with stories from college and you were laughing so much that you nearly fell over multiple times.

You stopped in front of your apartment building and Peter faced you, a smile on his face that made your heart do jumping jacks.

“Hey, I’m sorry to ask this,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “but can I come up and use your bathroom?”

You blinked a few times before nodding. “Of course, just follow me.”

After crossing the empty lobby (no doorman for you), you began your trek up the stairs, Peter following closely behind you, but not uncomfortably close. You truly hated that the elevator hadn’t been fixed yet, because when you were carrying groceries, you often dropped at least two items on the climb to the eighth floor.

“Here we are,” you announced as you made it to your floor, panting only slightly. You crossed to your apartment and unlocked the door, letting Peter in.

“This is a cute little place,” Peter said sincerely, making you chuckle.

“It’s nice, I do enjoy living here,” you replied. “Though it could be better, it _could_ be much, much worse.” You toed off your shoes as you said, “The bathroom is the first door on the right down the hallway.”

“Thanks,” Peter nearly sprinted to the hallway.

You chuckled to yourself and put your bag on your couch. You turned on the TV and opened the HULU app, thinking to yourself about the incredibly enjoyable afternoon you spent with Peter. He was so sweet and funny that he constantly had your heart in disarray, trying to maintain your composure.

After a few minutes, a slightly ruffled Peter appeared out of your bathroom. He was slightly flushed, but you pushed the strangeness of it aside.

“Thanks so much,” Peter smiled at you, standing not even a foot away from you.

“Thank _you,_ Peter,” you beamed. “I had so much fun this afternoon.”

“I did too,” he breathed, stepping ever so slightly closer. “I want to hang out again soon, anytime you’re available, just for fun.”

“I don’t find that to be unreasonable,” you grinned.

Peter’s smile grew. “I’ll email you later, okay? That’ll be the easiest way to get in contact with you until your phone is in, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Awesome,” he beamed. “Well, I’d better get going.”

You walked him to the door. “Thanks again for a wonderful afternoon, Peter. I’m glad we did this. You are a delight.”

“So are you,” he murmured as he faced you. Contemplation crossed his face and he quickly leaned forward, kissing your cheek. “I’ll see you soon,” he stated.

“Bye, Peter,” you managed to keep the stutter from your lips.

“Bye, Y/N, my new bestie,” he winked as he walked backwards out the door before nearly running to the stairs.

With the kiss still burning on your cheek, you slowly closed and locked your door. You leaned against it and couldn’t contain the small squeal and giggle that bubbled up from your chest. You couldn’t remember the last time your heart felt so incredibly light.

About two hours of restlessness later, you decided to sit on your fire escape and read a book. You liked to sit there in the evenings and watch the traffic dip before coming to life with the night scene. There was a strange sense of peacefulness that came with sitting on the fire escape and sipping your tea, thumbing through your book or work, depending on the day.

You brought your small reading lamp out with you so that you could read when the sun went down completely. It was a nice night and you were soothed by the ambient noises of the traffic below; it helped calm your restlessness that had cropped up after Peter kissed your cheek and winked at you.

Your tea was long gone by the time you closed your book to look out at the buildings and life going on around you.

“Hello,” a deep voice surprised you.

You jumped in surprise and looked up to see Spider-Man perched on your fire escape railing, watching you with a tilt of his head. His mask moved slightly as you clutched at your chest instinctively to try and calm your heart.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice obviously altered.

“I-it’s fine,” you stuttered, glad that your tea was definitely gone, and the mug was sitting next to you. Otherwise, you definitely would have accidentally thrown it at the superhero. You’d nearly thrown your _book_ at him.

“Whatcha doing on your fire escape?” the hero asked, sliding off the railing to gracefully sit facing you. “Is there something wrong?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, and you shook your head with a reassuring smile. “No, why would you think that?” you asked him.

“A lot of times, I see people sitting on their fire escapes when they want to escape the world, so,” he shrugged, “I figured that I’d ask.”

You chuckled at him and shook your head slightly. “I like the ambient sound of the traffic. I got a little restless a few hours ago and thought this might help,” you found yourself explaining to the hero.

He nodded in understanding before looking at you with narrowed white eyes. “What made you restless, random citizen?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” you shot back with a smirk.

The white eyes of the mask widened and that made you chuckle. “I-I was just curious, that’s all, maybe I could help?”

You laughed lightly and raised your hands to placate his stuttering. “No worries, hero of Queens!” you smirked.

“So,” he prompted, scooting closer the eyes of the mask widened and narrowed, appearing to act like eyebrows, “are you going to tell me?”

Your laugh floated through the air again and you nodded. “I met this guy today,” you began almost shyly, a soft smile on your face. “He’s super sweet and funny and smart, and, well, I find myself already liking him a lot. He’s really easy to get along with, really easy to talk to, you know? He has this light inside him that makes me want to be around him more and more. He walked me home, which is more than I can say for a lot of my ‘friends’ I’ve had in the past.” You trailed off slightly, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What about this made you restless?” Spider-Man asked gently.

“Well,” you sighed, “he’s really cute, and he’s kinda flirty. Not that I mind, of course, but after he left, I found myself thinking about how I wanted to see him again, but I don’t want to bother him, and I know he probably has cooler friends than me. And, well, he kissed my cheek and that nearly made me burst into flames. I don’t know,” you sighed again, “I think my anxiety just had me thinking a lot about everything.”

Spider-Man nodded in understanding. “Well, how do you know he doesn’t think you’re cool? Or at least as cool as his other friends?”

You chuckled sadly. “Look at me, Spider-Man, I’m a very lame human. It’s a Saturday night and I’m sitting on my fire escape, reading a book I’ve read eighteen times before, with no more tea because I already drank it. I’m hardly the coolest kid on the block.”

“Well,” he tilted his head in thought, “I barely know you, and I think you’re pretty cool. Just don’t worry, I’m sure he thinks you’re as great as you think he is.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Sure, Spider-Man. So,” you leaned towards him, “what brings _you_ to _my_ fire escape?”

He shrugged. “Saw a beautiful woman on a fire escape, figured I should make sure she’s okay.”

You giggled slightly and covered your mouth with your hand. “Okay, _sure_, Spider-Man,” you drawled teasingly. “Maybe _you_ were just _lonely._”

“I’ll never tell,” he informed you dramatically

You laughed again and shook your head at his antics. “Alright, well, Spider-Man, if you ever do get lonely, feel free to knock on my window. And, well, thank you for dropping in,” you tried to push the heat away from your cheeks. “My first time meeting you has gone pretty well, if I do say so. And, well, I think talking about it helped me out.”

“I’m happy to help, Y/N,” he stated firmly, standing gracefully. “And thanks for the information. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“Likewise, Spider-Man,” you smirked, standing as well. He hopped on the railing and turned to give you a mock salute. “Wait, how did you know my name?”

“Bye!” he exclaimed quickly, swinging away immediately after that.

You sighed affectionately—because Spider-Man _was_ as nice as everyone said—and climbed back inside your apartment with your stuff. Meeting Spider-Man was nice, but it ended up draining your social battery the rest of the way. After locking the window, you closed the curtains and went about your nightly routine.

As you stared at the ceiling from your bed, trying to hunt down sleep, you thought back to your day once again. Your cheek tingled and warmed at the memory of the kiss and you found yourself drifting off to sleep with the same warmth filling your body.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a robbery, violence, and descriptions of injuries

A few days later, on Thursday, you looked up to see your Edith at your door, a package in her hands. With an excited shout, you got up and hurried over to her. Your supervisor chuckled at your actions, pretending to hide the package behind her back.

“Edith,” you pouted as she kept the box with a teasing grin.

“Fine, fine,” she acquiesced, handing you the box. “Now you can start actually _texting_ that boy instead of emailing like you’re old. Don’t email like me, don’t be old.” Edith widened her eyes as if picturing deep, dark horrors, and you laughed at her.

“Email is still perfectly acceptable, Edith,” you chuckled, trying to push the topic of Peter right out the window.

It didn’t work.

“It’s not acceptable when you have a crush on a handsome man!”

“Edith!” you chided, fumbling with your box to try and maintain composure.

That _also_ didn’t work.

“I’ll leave you to your phone,” Edith cackled, winking at you before leaving.

You muttered to yourself and sat down at your desk. It didn’t take long to get your new phone up and running. As it sat on your desk, you sent out an email to your coworkers to inform them that your phone was back in business again, with the same phone number as before. It was nice to be easily connected to Monica again, and it was nice to be able to play your mindless little games when you needed a break from reading.

And, well, it _would_ be nice to be able to talk to Peter without needing an Internet connection. The two of you had been emailing back and forth rather consistently since Saturday, and you had plans to meet up for a movie/game night at Peter’s place on Friday. Ned had finally returned from his business trip, and Peter really wanted you to meet him and his Aunt May, who would be at the movie/game night as well.

You’d been hesitant to accept the invitation. Even though you _really_ liked Peter (probably too much considering how long you’d known him), you were always nervous about meeting new people. But, after encouragement from Monica, and reassurance from Peter, you agreed to go.

You emailed Peter, telling him your phone number, and tried to get back to work. You tried, you really did, but your brain was jumping around like a happy rabbit.

You sighed and sat back, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your lack of focus could also be attributed to the ache in your eyes from reading too much. This job was amazing, one of your dream jobs, but sometimes it was hard to deal with because it did leave you with aches and pains, both in your eyes and your lower back.

Then again, you’d always had a bad back.

Your phone dinged and you opened your eyes. You had a text message from an unknown number. Upon opening the message, you saw it was a message from Peter.

_Peter: Heyyo, Y/N! It’s a-me, Peter!!!_

You chuckled and wrote back: _Hello, Peter, it’s a-me, Y/N, the Wario of the world._

Peter sent back several shocked and angry emojis, making you chuckle again. Then, this message arrived: _How dare you. You are my Mario AND_ _my Princess Peach. Never slander yourself in my presence again._

You laughed loudly, tilting your head back. You couldn’t help the heat that came to your cheeks and you typed out your response: _Or what, I’m going to be turned into Bowser?_

_No, you’ll get a strongly worded letter and a disappointed look_

You rolled your eyes and tried to control the beating of your heart.

_I cannot believe you think you’re Wario,_ Peter then wrote. _You are the shining light, the Princess Peach in “Paper Mario and Thousand-Year-Old Door”, taking charge and doing her best to save herself while stuck on the moon._

A snort escape your body and you shook your head. _You’re ridiculously silly._

_But you’re the one that decided to like me and be friends with me, so who’s the REALLY silly one here????_

It took you a minute to think of a reply. In the end, this is what you sent: _… fair point._

Peter simply replied with a bunch of emojis, rather nonsensically, but it made you chuckle. After sending back a few emojis of your own, you told him that you needed to get back to work and be productive for once.

_Fine, leave me,_ Peter wrote. _I’ll wither away, but go be ‘productive’, I guess. ‘Responsibility’ is important, I GUESS_

You almost cackled with laughter at his dramatics and told him to hang tight, because you’d be back soon to revive him.

_Mouth to mouth better be in order, I think I’m dying…_

You rolled your eyes and put your phone on silent so you could get some work done.

Of course, you ended up being restless again, because you were thinking about his demand of mouth to mouth. Was Peter just teasing, or was he flirting? Was this what being friends with Peter Parker was like for everyone? You had no idea, and those thoughts were crowding your mind after a few simple minutes.

Then, your savior arrived in the form of Arthur, your beloved coworker. He knocked on the frame of your door as he leaned against it, making your head jolt up in surprise.

“Hello, dear,” he greeted you softly in his London lilt. “You doing alright there?”

You smiled at him, probably a little raggedly, and shrugged a shoulder. “Not really,” you admitted. “Can’t focus, my brain is being too loud.”

“Then it is a _perfect_ time to come on a coffee break!” he announced, striding in and trying to pull you from your chair. Since your chair had wheels, it simply went along with you, making you laugh.

“Arthur, let me get up! You know that the chair will barely fit in the break room, the door frame is only _barely_ big enough,” you giggled. “We all remember what happened the last time you tried this stunt.”

The man pretended to look insulted and dropped your hands. “For your information, we’re going to a café for the coffee break. Get up, let’s go.”

You chuckled and stood, gathering your purse and phone; you made sure to pack it in the _bottom_ of your purse, just in case.

As you followed Arthur out of the office and to the elevator, you said, “Are we going to bother poor Charlie at work?”

Arthur turned around with wide, dramatic hazel eyes. “What? No, no, why would we do that? No, we’re just going to get coffee. I don’t even know if Charlie is working today.”

You giggled into your hand as you entered the elevator. “Arthur, it’s _his_ café. He works every day except for weekends.” Of course, you knew he knew this.

“I would _never_ interrupt Charlie at work, how could you _possibly_ assume that of me, I am hurt. I’m truly hurt. How could you. I am always professional.”

You laughed at the deep voiced man acting like a dramatic Shakespeare actor. The two of you made small talk as you walked the two blocks to the café, _Bean Me Up_. It truly had amazing coffee, and if it had been a bit closer to the subway station, it was where you would have suggested to meet Peter because of its inherent nerdiness. It was quite popular.

Arthur opened the door for you, the scent of coffee washing over your body and relaxing your shoulders. It was a small place, one you had always enjoyed visiting, and it wasn’t too bright or too dark. At the moment, there were a few people lounging around.

“Oh Charlie!” Arthur sang out in his deep voice, nearly _skipping_ to the counter. You were confident that if he actually _had_ been skipping, his suit would have ripped.

Charlie, a stocky man with his dreadlocks in a ponytail today, looked up as he heard Arthur. He rolled his eyes but there was a small smile on his face.

“Wow, Arthur, what a surprise,” Charlie drawled, smirking. “Second time today, do you have a crush on me or something?”

“I would never, you’re simply not my type,” Arthur teased.

“What is your type, then, gorgeous?”

Arthur pretended to think about it, and you smiled. Their interactions were always amusing to watch, to say the least.

“I like Jamaican-Filipino men that own their own business and make the best coffee in the entire damn city, with dreadlocks and glasses and a scar on the left eyebrow,” Arthur finally stated, nodding to himself.

“Oh my gosh, just greet your husband already!” you exclaimed teasingly, gently pushing the man’s shoulder. “I want a coffee.”

“Y/N!” Charlie exclaimed, rushing around the counter and completely bypassing his husband to wrap you in a hug. “I didn’t even see you; this big lug was in the way. How are you, darling, is this one still being annoying in the break room?”

“Oh, you know,” you joked, “just always making my life difficult.”

“Hey!” Arthur protested, though you both ignored him.

“Aw, sorry, he can be like that. The other day, he—”

“We’re not telling that story!!” Arthur interrupted abruptly, turning his husband away from you forcibly. You laughed loudly and Charlie winked at you.

You and Arthur ordered your drinks, and since Charlie wouldn’t let you pay, you shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his tip jar. As you and Arthur sat by the window, enjoying your coffee slowly (Thursdays were always slow days at the office, and Edith knew the power a break could have), you looked out to see four people in masks approaching the shop.

“Charlie!” you barely had time to shout as the men burst into the café. They waved large guns around and started yelling.

“Everyone, get down!” one yelled above the others. The other people had already scrambled to the floor, their hands over their heads. It was deadly quiet in the shop once everyone was on the floor; you and Arthur, however, were behind the men, sitting at your table in shock, and for some reason, you were ignored.

You shot Arthur a look and he nodded subtly, slowly reaching for his phone and texting Edith to call 911. She immediately responded with a thumbs up, but Arthur’s phone was on sound, making the robbers turn around.

“Hey!” one yelled, striding forward and shoving Arthur down to the floor. “You think you’re hot shit, you fucking piece of shit? Pulling shit, calling people?”

“I-I didn’t do anything!” Arthur protested.

“Get on the ground!” a second guy walked up to the table, talking to you.

You didn’t move.

“I said,” he growled, grabbing you by the hair, “get on the ground!”

“Leave her alone!” Charlie shouted from the counter, where he was slowly complying with the leader’s demands.

“Oh, why should I?” the guy still holding you by the hair asked. The gun was pressed to your head and the man growled, “Hurry the fuck up.”

“Look, we don’t wanna shoot anyone,” the leader was saying, “just give us all the money in the entire store, okay? Go to the safe and get that, too. Or we’ll start with her.”

Tears were pooling in your eyes from the force of your hair being gripped so tightly, but you could hear sirens in the distance. As you were trying to relieve the pain from your roots by pulling your knees under your body, you remembered a video you’d once watched. It was a risky idea, but perhaps you’d be able to turn the situation around.

You quickly rammed your elbow into the back of the man’s knee; he crumbled, releasing your hair. You grabbed his gun and threw it at the man that was standing by Arthur, knocking him to the ground. It was that moment that Spider-Man burst through the window, sending glass flying everywhere.

The superhero was webbing up the two guys that were standing as the one you’d hit in the knee turned to you with fire in his eyes. You raised your arms and curled your body into yourself to protect your organs as he kicked you in the side and back.

The café was full of sound again as people were yelling and you felt the vibrations of people running outside, but you were still being kicked at. You remained in that position even when the kicking stopped, but the sounds were still in your ears, and you didn’t want to risk anything. You stayed like that until the vibrations from the floor calmed down.

“Shit, Y/N, are you okay?” a weird voice asked, and strange feeling hands were gently touching your shoulders.

You opened your eyes and saw Spider-Man, looking at you with wide white eyes. He seemed more panicked than you would have thought, especially since no one had been shot and the police had already arrived to take away the webbed criminals.

“I-I’m okay,” you muttered as you sat up.

“Y/N, you’re bleeding. There’s glass in your face and your hand.”

You looked at your hand and were shocked to see that Spider-Man was right. There were little pieces of glass in the back of your hand and down the outside of your forearm. It was from when you’d dropped to the floor in a ball to protect yourself.

“Well, would you look at that,” you blinked.

A paramedic approached you at that moment, making Spider-Man back up. “You’ll take care of her, right?” the hero asked the professional.

“Of course, Spider-Man. Leave it to me, thank you for stepping in. It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t showed up,” the paramedic said.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” you said quietly as she helped you up.

“Y-you’re welcome, Y/N,” he stuttered, backing up towards the broken window. “Stay safe out there.”

You barely heard him as you walked slowly with the paramedic, Siska, outside the café. Arthur and Charlie were holding each other as they were looked over by another paramedic, and thankfully they both looked okay. Arthur had a few small cuts from broken glass, but he didn’t look too worse for wear. Charlie looked stressed and scared.

Siska made small talk with you as she looked over your injuries; she was worried about the glass in your hand and face and the bruising forming around your midsection. So, Siska accompanied you to the hospital, keeping you distracted from the creeping pain by telling you about various Indonesian foods that she missed from visiting family.

Arthur called you as you were waiting for a doctor to come into the room, and you answered right away, still rather numb and in shock.

_“Are you okay?”_ he immediately demanded.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. A doctor is gonna look over my injuries and stuff, remove the glass and shit, make sure I don’t have any broken anything.”

_“That’s a relief,”_ he breathed out. Then, _“What the FUCK were you thinking?”_

“W-what?” you stuttered, nearly dropping your phone from your good hand.

_“There were four men, Y/N! FOUR of them! And you thought it would be a bloody good idea to try and debilitate one, as if that would’ve made a difference!”_

“Arthur,” you began in a deadly steady voice, “if you keep yelling at me, I will hang up this phone right now and not speak to you for two weeks.”

_“Stop berating her,”_ Charlie’s voice said from the background. _“Let me talk to her. You’re being unhelpful, and I know that’s not what you want. Go sit, okay, babe?”_

Arthur muttered something that you couldn’t quite make out, but the phone was handed over to Charlie.

_“Look, Y/N,”_ the man sighed, _“I do admit, the way you went about things was reckless, but it was also pretty smart. Thank you for that. Now, tell me what’s going on.”_

You told Charlie everything that you knew at that moment, though you barely registered that you were talking. When the doctor entered, you said goodbye to Charlie and told him to take care of himself.

“Alright, let’s get a look at you,” the doctor said as she entered. “I’m Doctor Miriam Finestein; Siska told me what you did today, and that was pretty brave.”

Your faraway look and mumbled, “Thanks,” did not go past the doctor. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took you in, the way the pieces of glass were sticking out from your skin and slowly bleeding, the way you seemed to have no focus whatsoever.

“Y/N, right?” Doctor Finestein confirmed, walking forward slowly. You nodded, trying to force your focus from the stupid white wall and onto the doctor. “Can I see your arm?” she asked gently.

You held your arm out to her and her warm touch on the palm of your hand seemed to help you wake up. Your vision came back into focus and you blinked as you got a good look at the lovely doctor. She smiled at you as you did, making you feel a little sheepish, but at least now you were alert.

“I thought you might be disassociating,” the doctor told you quietly.

“That happens to me a lot,” you admitted. “But I tried to fight it this time.”

“But I think this was shock induced.”

“You’re probably right.”

Doctor Finestein kept up small talk while she examined your arm and hand; she told you about her cat, Frank, and her dog, Stella. It helped keep you grounded as she turned to your face, making a small clicking sound with her tongue.

“I’m going to take out the glass,” she informed you, rolling back on her chair towards the sink. “It doesn’t look _too_ bad, truth be told. You’ll heal up just fine. Thankfully, there’s only a handful of deep and big pieces. I _do_ want to do a CT scan afterwards on your hand and arm, just to be sure there isn’t any damage that’s not superficial. I’ll also check your ribs for breakage or other such things. Of course, we’ll also patch everything up and send you home with some painkillers.”

“Okay. Uh, how long will it take?” you asked hesitantly.

“Well,” she washed her hands and glanced at you, “it’s not going to be short. Unfortunately, there are a lot of smaller pieces, and there might be a wait for the scan. You could call someone to keep you company, we wouldn’t say no to that. It could take a few hours and it does get a little dull.”

You nibbled your lip in thought; you didn’t want to go through it completely alone, but you also didn’t want to be a bother. As you were thinking and Doctor Finestein was getting everything together, your phone went off. The doctor let you answer it and went out to get a nurse to help her with the glass removal.

You answered without looking, immediately being greeted with, _“Y/N, are you okay? I saw something about a café robbery and saw you on the news, is everything okay? Where are you? Thank goodness you picked up!”_

You chuckled despite yourself, trying not to move too many muscles in your face. Moving your mouth was fine, but there was a curve of cuts and pieces of glass going from above your eyebrow and down to your cheekbone. Still, as you were now more alert, you were actually registering the _glass_ in your _face._

“I’m okay, Peter,” you told him calmly. “I just have some glass in my arm and hand, and some in my face, but I’m okay, really.”

_“Oh, thank God,”_ Peter breathed out. _“Where are you? Do you need anything?”_

“Actually,” you hesitated, “actually, Peter, if you’re not busy…” You steeled your nerves. It would be fine. “If you’re not busy, could you come and sit in the hospital with me? There’s stuff they gotta do and I,” your throat tightened, and you finally registered how _actually terrified_ you still were, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

_“Of course! I’ll be right there; I’m still in Manhattan. Where are you?”_

You told Peter the hospital and the room number before hanging up. At that moment, Doctor Finestein knocked and came back in with a smile directed at you.

“We’ll get started in a few minutes. Would you rather check your ribs before or after removing the glass?”

“After, please,” you said with little hesitation. “I really want to get this stuff out of my arm. I’m tired of holding it like this.”

“No problem!” she reassured you. “Is someone coming?”

“Yeah, my friend Peter—”

You were interrupted by a knock on the door and Doctor Finestein opened it, revealing an out-of-breath Peter Parker.

“And that would be Peter,” you chuckled.

“Jesus, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Peter breathed out as he nearly knocked the good doctor over. He was hovering around your injured side, the worry on his face making his eyebrow twitch. Then, as if he realized that he had nearly knocked a doctor over, he spun on his heels.

“Peter, yes?” Doctor Finestein asked rhetorically, a teasing smile on her face.

“Yes,” he puffed out before offering his hand. “I’m Peter Parker.”

“She told me,” the doctor chuckled, “right before you burst into the door.”

“So, when are we getting started?” you asked, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

“Once my nurse gets here,” Finestein informed you both. Immediately after, there was a knock on the door, and the doctor said, “Wow, Y/N and I just have wonderful timing today, don’t we! Everyone’s appearing at our beck and call.”

“I’ll always come to Y/N’s beck and call,” Peter stated firmly.

Your eyes widened in embarrassment at his strong statement and avoided looking him in the eyes. As you looked at the doctor, she was giving you a knowing look, so you looked at the nurse instead. He _also_ gave you a knowing look, so you resigned yourself to not winning at that moment. Life wasn’t always fair.

You kept repeating that internal mantra as Dr. Finestein and the nurse, Jeremy, worked on removing the glass from your face. It was certainly _not_ a nice feeling.

As you clutched the edge of the table, you felt heat coming closer to your hand. Peter gently touched your hand, forcing it to relax from the table, and your eyes flickered up to him. He smiled gently at you, the softest of pinks gracing his cheekbones, and laced your hands together. His hand was soft but steady, comforting.

“You can squeeze my hand,” Peter said tenderly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

The sweetness of his gaze made your heart melt and you smiled your agreement.

You winced and squeezed his hand as the tweezers removed the glass shards from your face. Doctor Finestein assured you that they were almost done with the face, but you nearly jumped out of your skin as the tweezers _dug_ around in the flesh of your cheek.

“Sorry,” Doctor Finestein tried to calm you. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I should have warned you. Just this piece in your cheek, and we’ll take a break, okay?”

You breathed out an “Okay,” prompting the doctor to go back to finding the glass. Peter rubbed your hand with his thumb, his other hand moving to rub up and down on your back. His touch was incredibly comforting, and it helped you get your breathing back in proper order, instead of the slightly-too-fast breaths you’d been taking.

It was a strange sensation as she pulled the glass out and placed it on the tray, allowing Jeremy to rush in to disinfect the spot. They put a few butterfly closures on your face, and you had to admit that so many hands touching your face was strange.

“Okay, we’ll take a little break,” Dr. Finestein announced as Jeremy finished with the bandages on your face. “I’ll let them know that we need a CT scan so the stuff will be ready by the time we’re ready.”

“Do you two need anything?” Jeremy asked you and Peter. “Water, maybe?”

“I’d love some, please,” you nodded vigorously. Peter nodded as well.

“Alright, I’ll be back in like two minutes,” Jeremy stated, giving you both a thumbs up and leaving the room.

Peter let go of your hand and stopped rubbing your back, clearing his throat and stepping back a bit. The pink that had been on his cheek had become red in a short amount of time, and he seemed nervous.

“I-I’m sorry this all happened,” he said quietly.

You looked at him and tilted your head in confusion. “Why?” you asked. “It wasn’t your fault those guys tried to rob Charlie’s business.”

Peter chuckled anxiously and rubbed the back of his neck. “S-still,” he stuttered, “I’m sorry there’s a bunch of glass in you.”

You shrugged a shoulder and heaved out a sigh. “You know, it could be worse. I’ll take a little glass over the alternative bullet in my skull.”

Peter blanched at that and his facial panic had you chuckling. He began to stammer, and you held your good hand out to him. At the gesture, he blinked in surprise before slowly moving to take your hand. You brushed your thumb over his knuckles, only to be surprised as Peter laced your fingers together again.

“Thank you for your concern, Peter,” you smiled. “But let’s focus on what happened and what’s going on now. No need to worry over ‘what ifs’ right now.”

As Peter beamed at you, Doctor Finestein and Jeremy knocked and entered the room. Peter dropped your hand and stepped back, once again blushing furiously. Jeremy handed you and Peter some cups of water as Dr. Finestein announced that it was time to begin the removal once more.

You chugged your water and put the empty cup behind you before brandishing your arm to the good doctor. You felt a lot better after wetting your throat, and you were really wanting to get home and just go to bed. All the “excitement” of the past handful of hours was taking its toll on you, and you _really_ wanted to go to bed.

As the professionals washed their hands and got everything ready once more, Peter finished his cup and took yours, throwing them away. He laced your fingers together and squeezed as the doctor and nurse began to remove the glass from your arm.

There were bigger pieces there, and each removal stung more than any in your face had. Peter kept squeezing your hand and rubbing your back; at once particularly irksome pull, he started to trace nonsensical patterns on your hand with his thumb. Then, you saw his face light up as inspiration struck.

He unlaced your fingers before turning your hand palm up. “I’m going to do little drawings, and I want you to try and guess what it is!” he beamed at you.

“Okay, sounds like a good idea,” you agreed, wincing slightly.

As Peter traced small designs on your palm, you managed to direct most of your attention to him. You hadn’t even known the doctor and nurse were done removing the glass until a sting of disinfectant snapped your head over to them.

“Almost done with this,” Doctor Finestein smiled at you. “We’ll bandage you up and check your ribs before the CT scan, okay?”

“Sure,” you nodded as Peter gently scratched his fingernail down your palm, obviously vying for your attention. Your laughter at his behavior made everyone in the room smile, and you shook your head at Peter. “So needy,” you teased.

Peter simply winked at you, making blood run to your face and chest, and drew his design once more on your palm.

Sooner than you expected, Jeremy was leaving the room (not without you thanking him, of course) with the tray of bloody glass, and Doctor Finestein was telling you to remove your shirt so she could look at your ribs.

Your wide, panicked eyes flashed to Peter and his red face.

“I, um, I’ll step out,” Peter stuttered, quickly fleeing the room.

You tried to ignore how your heart ached as he ran; it was obvious to you that he didn’t want to see any part of you naked. It hurt your heart, but you tried to reassure yourself that Peter was just being polite. It didn’t stop the slight ache in your heart of the rush of anxiety in your mind as you took off your shirt so the doctor could do her examination.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues with the injuries from the last chapter

You tried to keep your heartrate regular as Doctor Finestein gently pressed around your ribs to see if there was any damage.

Did you have anxiety about not having a shirt on? Absolutely. Was it present throughout your entire life? Absolutely. Were you trying to work through it? Absolutely.

But, after a long day, with adrenaline rushes and glass and then Peter being adorable, well, longstanding anxiety was trying to take the place of your years-long work.

Of course, you were trying to fight it, so it wasn’t like all your progress had been undone in the course of a few hours. You were proud of that; you’d take that win, thankyouverymuch.

Doctor Finestein stood back and handed your shirt to you. She smiled brightly as you put it on (being careful of your hurt arm) and said cheerfully, “No broken ribs! There’s likely some bruising on the bones, though, but there’s nothing we can do about that here; that one just takes time. However, if you start to experience extreme pain or problems breathing, come back in immediately so we can do some scans.”

“Sure,” you nodded, straightening your shirt. “How do I cope with the pain? Ice?”

“Yep!” she chirped. “Ice it for a bit and then take the ice off for a bit, as needed for the pain. Also, take pain medication, whatever you usually take, or the stuff we’ll give you. After about two days, you could soak in a hot bath or use a hot water bottle or use a warm washcloth to help the exterior bruising fade faster. Sound good?”

You nodded, “Sounds good.”

“So, before we go do the CT scan,” Doctor Finestein leaned in a bit and lowered her voice to a whisper, “I thought Peter was your boyfriend, so that’s why I didn’t ask him to leave earlier. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that’s not right of me as a doctor.”

You felt a rush of blood head straight for your cheeks and chest. You felt like you were in an old cartoon and like your head was going to pop off from the force of your blush.

“N-no,” you stuttered. “No, he’s not. He’s just a good friend.”

“Well, he’s a sweet boy,” the doctor grinned at your sudden sheepishness, “and he obviously likes you. So, I suggest you hold on to him.”

Before you could stutter out a response, she gestured for you to follow her out of the room. You gathered your things, trying to cool your face, and left the room.

Peter looked up from where he was leaning against the wall and beamed at you.

You tried to knock the echoes of Doctor Finestein from your brain. Thankfully, her comments had also knocked most of your anxious thoughts out of your head, too. So, you were just in a place of minor disequilibrium as you tried to control your emotions.

You and Peter followed the good doctor down the hallway and into the elevator. She began to explain the process of a CT scan as you went down a few floors, and you managed to focus on what she was saying.

Though, part of your brain would have preferred for you to focus on Peter as he stood close to you in the small space of the elevator.

The CT scan was actually easier than you thought, and you chatted with Peter in the waiting room while waiting for everything to process. He was telling another story about Ned, and you were smiling so wide that you thought you’d crack some of your skin.

“Y/N?” Doctor Finestein called your name after about twenty minutes, making you and Peter both look up. She tilted her head with a smile, and you crossed over to her. Peter was right on your heels.

“Long time no see,” you joked to the doctor as she took you to a small, private office sort of room. It was all quite professional.

“I know, it’s been ages,” the doctor joked right back. She didn’t sit down, so neither did you and Peter.

“What’s the damage?” Peter asked after a few tense moments of silence when your brain had decided to stall.

“No major damage!” Doctor Finestein cheered.

“Yay!” you and Peter echoed brightly.

As Doctor Finestein explained the results in a bit more detail, all you could think about was your stomach rumbling. You pushed the hunger away and listened intently as the doctor went through the things you should do at home, and what to do if certain situations were to pop up. You let your brain soak all of it up, hoping that you wouldn’t have to return to the hospital for a long time.

Soon, you were leaving the hospital with Peter and some strong pain medication. It was dark as you exited the building, but you enjoyed not having to smell the hospital air, even if it _was_ Manhattan air and the quality left much to be desired. Hospital air always felt stiff to you, a little stifling. You understood _why_, as the air needed to be clean, but it didn’t mean that you liked the scent.

“I heard your stomach rumbling,” Peter informed you as you were walking. “Let’s get some food in you. What sounds good?”

You fought down the urge to tell him that he didn’t have to hang around with you anymore, as he was _surely_ getting tired of you. Normally, that’s what you would’ve said. But tonight, you were tired, and Peter offered, so you let yourself go along with it.

“I think pizza sounds good. But not too greasy,” you said after a moment of thought.

“I know just the place,” Peter grinned, linking his elbow through your good one, the left one, and began to lead the way. “They also sell these really tasty fries; I think you’ll love it. Well… do you like garlic?”

“I love garlic,” you informed him immediately. “My family always joked that we could never be vampires because we love garlic too much.”

Peter laughed at that, his head tilting back and his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ve never thought of it like that, but I’m the same way!”

You chuckled with him, the warm from his arm spreading up your body. It was comforting, but it also brought attention to the fact that your body was sore and exhausted. You let out a small sigh as you thought of collapsing onto your bed.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked gently.

“Hm?” You looked at him to see concern knitting his brows. “Oh, I’m just really tired and sore. I was thinking about my bed,” you chuckled.

“Well, the sooner we get pizza, the sooner we can get to your bed.”

“We?” you asked him with a smirk.

“Yup,” he said easily, though the blush tinging his cheeks made you grin.

Peter talked aimlessly as you walked together, a yawn stretching your jaw. His chattering paused very briefly, and you glanced at him to see him hailing a cab. One minute later, you were clambering carefully into a taxi and he was climbing in next to you. Peter told the driver where to go and then he was launching back into his story. You were only half listening, of course, because you were trying to stay awake; you’d been trying to stay awake even when walking down the sidewalk.

A few minutes later, Peter was paying the driver and helping you out of the car. When you straightened after stepping out, you were hit with a wave of pain and nausea that had you nearly falling onto the asphalt.

Peter was there, though, catching you easily with his body. Unfortunately, his arms ended up catching you on the ribs, making you wince once more. Your injured arm was throbbing in time with your face, and as he easily helped boost you up, you sighed heavily.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked you, making you glance up at him. The concern in his soft brown eyes make you feel a little better, but then your arm throbbed again. As you grimaced and looked away from him, Peter gently guided you back into the cab, which had yet to leave because the door was still open.

You scrambled to the corner of the car, clutching your pained ribs with your good hand, you could faintly hear Peter talking to the driver. It seemed that leaving the hospital had caused all the pain to catch up with you; it was akin to some of your worst cramps.

The car started to move, and your eyes flickered open to see Peter watching you carefully. You managed to give him a weak smile and straightened up with another grimace.

“Sorry,” you muttered, trying to get in a comfortable enough position in the small space. “I think the pain and nausea caught up with me,” you chuckled humorlessly.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” he reassured you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You never have to apologize for not feeling well. Especially not to me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Queens,” he replied easily, scooting closer to you.

“But what about—”

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly. “I’ll make you some food.”

“You can cook?” you asked with perhaps a little too much doubt.

“I can, yes,” Peter informed you with great pride. “I can make some great pasta; I will have you know that it is a great delicacy.”

His dramatism made you chuckle, though you controlled it enough to where you didn’t cause you more pain. You saw how the sound made Peter’s concern lessen ever so slightly and took a deep breath to try to relax. It made your ribs twinge, but the rest of your muscles began to relax a bit, so it mostly made you feel better.

The cab finally arrived at your apartment building and Peter paid the driver before you could. He helped you out of the cab this time, essentially forcing you to brace yourself on him as you stood properly. Then, Peter laced your arms together and began to walk.

As you stepped up onto the sidewalk, you realized that your _entire_ body was sore, especially your legs. You figured that it was probably from being dragged around by the robbers by the hair, and from the adrenaline completely working through your system.

Once again, you found yourself cursing the lack of a working elevator.

Peter’s sure and steady steps next to your shaky ones made you feel self-conscious about making the trip longer than it needed to be. He was already missing out on apparently amazing pizza because you couldn’t even manage to get fully out of a taxi, and now here he was, helping you and your shaky, sore body cross the damn sidewalk to get to the entrance of your apartment building.

“Peter,” you stopped in front of the entrance, making him turn to you. “Peter, you don’t have to keep helping me. It’s okay. You can go home; I’ll be alright. You don’t have to waste your evening on me; I know it’s annoying.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head in slight confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Peter, I’ve already taken up so much of your day with my stupid problems and probably annoying mannerisms, and I don’t want to annoy you by being slow and difficult, so really, it’s okay if you go home. I won’t be hurt. It’s gonna take me a bit to get up the stairs, so you really don’t need to waste your time on—”

“Hey now,” Peter interrupted your fast speech, putting a finger to your lips. “You’re not a waste of time, Y/N, and your problems aren’t stupid. You make it seem like it was your fault you got hurt. It wasn’t, Y/N, just as much as it… wasn’t mine. It was the robbers’ fault. Your mannerisms are _not_ annoying: in fact, they are adorable, and I enjoy seeing them.”

“But—”

Peter surprised you by tenderly cupping your cheeks and gazing into your eyes intensely. “Y/N,” he nearly whispered, “you need help. And I _want_ to help. Beyond that, I want to be around you more; I like hanging out with you. This is just an excuse to hang out with you more. I promise. You’re not annoying and you aren’t a waste of time or a burden. You’re my friend.”

You blinked away simmering tears and cleared your throat. Peter’s hands drifted away from your cheeks and he gently took your elbow.

“Let’s get inside, okay?” The artist suddenly grinned, “This is also an excuse to get you to try my _amazing_ cooking.”

You chuckled lightly and let him lace your arms together again. “You keep talking yourself up, buddy, and I’m gonna be disappointed if you only cook ramen.”

Peter laughed brightly as he walked inside with you. “I can make ramen from scratch, but that’s not what I’m going to make you.”

“Well,” you winced slightly as you inhaled too sharply, “what are you making?”

“It’s a secret,” he winked down at you.

Your laughter echoed across the lobby and you saw Peter’s wide grin. You found yourself copying it, with the happiness to match it.

Then, you arrived at the stairs.

The happiness on your face deflated like the world’s saddest balloon as you stared at what would likely be your demise. You mentally cursed the day that the elevator broke down, even though you knew that it broke down a year and a half ago (therefore before you moved into the building) and began to curse the shoddy repairman _and_ his family.

“I can carry you,” Peter suggested.

Your mind went blank and your jaw gave a jaunty hello to the floor.

“What?” you stammered.

“I can carry you up the stairs,” he repeated, amusement in his eyes.

“What? No, no way, Peter.”

“Why not?” he pouted.

“Well, for one, it’s eight fucking flights of stairs,” you pointed out, and he nodded in understanding. “Two, I am _way_ too heavy for you. I’d break your back. There’s no way I’m letting you carry me up the stairs on your back; no way in hell.”

Peter flashed you a mischievous smirk and the next thing you knew, your legs were dangling in the air and Peter was cradling you to his chest. He had one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your shoulders.

“Peter!” you essentially squealed, wiggling in his hold. “What the fuck are you doing? Put me down, you’ll hurt yourself!”

He grinned down at you and began to climb the stairs. He didn’t even look _bothered_ by holding you, much less carrying you _up eight flights of stairs._

“One, I never said anything about carrying you on my back,” he said cheekily, adding a wink, “and two, you’re not that heavy.”

“Peter, I weigh more than you and another person combined, please put me down, you’re going to hurt yourself,” you pleaded.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, I get to hold you and feel your gorgeous form; what could be better than that?”

It was obviously a rhetorical question, but it was one that had you sputtering for a response. Peter simply beamed down at you and _that_ made your blood roar in your ears. You stopped squirming and simply let him carry you, though your brain was racing.

When Peter’s foot slipped on a step, however, you found yourself clutching his neck in shock. He caught himself easily and had even squeezed you closer to his chest, but the temporary shift had you spooked. As you opened your eyes, you saw him gazing down at you with an unreadable gleam in his eyes.

After a few moments, Peter cleared his throat and muttered out an apology before continuing up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: continuation of injuries from previous chapters, exhaustion

You still had your arms around Peter’s neck as he reached your floor. You expected him to put you down as soon as you reached the top.

It seemed that Peter was full of surprises.

Peter continued to carry you on the way to your door. Right before he gently put you down, he squeezed you tightly and seemed to inhale deeply through his nose. Then, thankfully, your feet touched the floor, and you felt relatively stable.

Peter followed you inside casually and you made a beeline to the fridge. Another yawn graced your face as you pulled out one of the reusable bottles of water you always put in the fridge. As you straightened and groaned at the twinge of pain, Peter appeared right behind you, making you throw the bottle in surprise.

Peter caught it easily and handed it back to you with a chuckle. “Why don’t you go get comfy and I’ll see what I can cook up?”

Too tired to argue, you said, “Luckily for you, I just went grocery shopping.”

He gave you a grin as you shuffled away. Once in your bedroom, you slowly went about changing from your dirty work clothes into a giant sweatshirt you’d gotten from a thrift store and a pair of simple black leggings. You stared at your blob-like form in the mirror, aware that you purposefully made yourself into a blob, before padding back out to the kitchen; the sounds of cooking reached your ears.

“Smells good,” you remarked as you leaned against the counter. “Are you utilizing my garlic and onions?”

“Yep!” Peter chirped as he beamed at you over his shoulder.

“What’s on the menu, chef?” you asked as you finally took a sip of water. The coolness relieved your throat and made your entire body relax ever so slightly.

“Well,” Peter shuffled slightly so you could stand next to him at the stove, “I saw that you had some steak, and some potatoes, so we’re going to have steak and potatoes.”

“What kind of potatoes?” you asked as you saw them already washed and cut, coming to a boil on the stove. Exactly how long had you been changing clothes?

“Not sure yet,” he admitted. “Not just boiled, I know that.”

You hummed slightly and grabbed a fork, poking a potato. “I’ll make some lemon pepper potatoes,” you stated as you turned up the heat.

“But _I_ am supposed to be the one cooking,” Peter pouted at you.

“And you have done a fabulous job so far,” you smiled at him, “but let me help. I hate feeling useless. Besides,” you cut him off as he was about to say something, “my kitchen, my rules. That’s the way it is.”

“Fine,” he pretended to huff. “What do you need, sous chef?”

You chuckled and took a step back from him. “Nothing yet. The potatoes aren’t quite done enough. Would you like to hear my plan?”

“Yes please!” Peter grinned as he placed a steak in the pan with a loud sizzle. He placed the next one and added some butter and rosemary, the scent wafting through the air and comforting your soul.

“Alright, well, when they’re almost done being boiled, I’m going to toss them in some lemon pepper seasoning. I might add some other stuff too, I’m not sure yet. Then, while the steaks are resting, I’ll toss them in the pan and let them crisp up.”

Peter let out a moan as you finished describing it, and your ears burned at the sound. “That sounds amazing,” he admitted, smirking at you.

You chatted absentmindedly as he finally flipped the steaks and you were ready to drain the potatoes. As you picked it up, your wrapped arm throbbed painfully enough that the pot clattered back onto the stove. It splashed near-boiling water all over your hand and foot, making you hiss in pain and jump back.

Of course, you collided with the counter behind you.

“Son of a bitch!” you exclaimed; your breathing was almost frozen in your throat.

“Jesus!” Peter exclaimed at the same time, taking a step towards you. “Shit, Y/N, are you okay? Not a great day for you, huh?” he attempted to lighten the mood.

Your eyes began to mist with tears of frustration, pain, and exhaustion; you were _much_ too tired to keep them in. You put your hand over your mouth as you let out a sob, your eyes squeezing shut and the tears pouring out of your eyes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, are you hurt?” Peter asked as he stepped closer to you, rubbing his hands up and down your shoulders and arms. “It’s okay, Y/N, just talk to me. Are you hurt? Please tell me you’re not hurt.”

“I’m, not, hurt,” you basically hiccupped around your tears.

“Oh,” he breathed, halting the rubbing of his hands on your arms. As you continued to sob, unable to stop both the tears and the jumping of your lungs, Peter stepped closer to you. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you into his chest.

You couldn’t stop the hand that covered your mouth from moving to grip Peter’s soft t-shirt with tight yet shaky fingers. You were just so incredibly exhausted and achy and _done_ with the world, that your body apparently decided that crying would be the best way to deal with your current situation.

One of Peter’s hands rubbed your back as the other squeezed you tighter. After several minutes, you felt your tears come to an end and your breathing relax.

Your head suddenly snapped up and you peered over Peter’s shoulder to look at the stove. The steaks were still in the pan, but the heat was off. You relaxed in front of Peter again, your neck rolling down to rest your forehead on his chest.

Peter chuckled and pulled back from you, making you look up at him. “Go lay down on the couch, okay?”

“But—”

“No, go. I’ll finish up dinner. Go lay down, relax. You need it.”

“But—”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, “you _deserve_ it. Besides, you’re not allowed to argue with me when you look that adorable. Now go.”

You sighed heavily and nodded. Peter smiled at your acquiescence and you almost jumped in surprise when his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead. You made sure you didn’t look at him as you shuffled away and into the living room.

You carefully lowered yourself to the couch and then into a comfortable position, or at least as comfortable as you could. You turned the TV on and lazily picked an episode of _The Golden Girls_ before sinking into the comfort of your couch.

Peter finished up dinner and walked into the living room to tell you it was ready, only to see you fast asleep. You were curled into yourself ever so slightly, your eyebrows slightly furrowed. Peter sat on the edge of the couch near your knees, looking down at you with a soft smile. You shifted slightly and let out a little grumble, a grimace coming to your lips.

Reaching out a hand, Peter gently ran his fingers through your hair, pushing the strands away from your face. At his touch, you relaxed, almost seeming to move closer to him, and his heart fluttered in his ribcage. The bandages on your face shot guilt through his chest, sending his fluttering heart back down to the ground.

He felt so bad about your injuries. It was an afternoon patrol day, and he was four blocks away when Karen told him about the robbery in-progress. Peter had swung over immediately, stopping on top of a building across the street to assess the situation.

As soon as he saw you being held by your hair, Peter was swinging down and to the window. You were throwing a gun at a man’s face when he went through the window, and then Peter was so focused on webbing everyone up to stop you from getting hurt that he didn’t get to the ones kicking you until you were already curled on the floor.

Peter’s heart panged again as he recalled you riddled with pieces of glass and clutching your ribs; he hated the look of fear on your face.

As you breathed in deeply, Peter was struck with pride at how brave you had been during the robbery. You obviously worked splendidly under pressure, and it made him admire you more. He hated that you’d gotten hurt, and that you were so torn up because he had been reckless and jumped without a proper plan, but he was happy that you were okay.

And, he admitted to himself, he was glad that he was there with you. Your sleeping form was so cute, and you looked so soft. He wanted nothing more than to crawl onto the couch and settle behind you, holding you close and keeping you safe. Then again, he also wanted to sketch out your gorgeous form…

Peter didn’t know why he was so drawn to you, especially considering that you hadn’t known each other very long, but he was. He didn’t want to stop being drawn to you, in all honesty, because he saw you as such a ray of light, even when you were sleeping.

Still, you had to wake up to eat.

You were woken up gently, and you opened your eyes to see Peter leaning over you slightly with his hand on your shoulder. His smile warmed your heart and you began to sit up. Your ribs twitched with a bit of pain, causing a wince to cross your face. Peter moved back slightly and smiled again as you stretched, wincing again at the slight pain it caused.

“How long was I out?” you muttered out, rubbing at your eyes.

“Just, like, fifteen minutes, I think?” Peter replied.

“Mm,” you hummed slightly, dropping your arms. “What’s up?”

“Dinner’s ready,” Peter said cheerfully, getting up and reaching out a hand to help you up. You put your hand in his and he gently helped you to your feet. Without letting go of your hand, he led you to your dining room table.

You sat in your usual spot, Peter to your right, and tiredly regarded your plate. You let out another hum as you finally woke up more upon smelling the food.

“This looks great, Peter,” you said sincerely, picking up your utensils and beginning to eat. The first bite of steak had you letting out a moan of happiness; it was truly delicious. “Oh my god, Peter,” you moaned around your food, “this is so good.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled warmly.

You spent the dinner in relative silence, mostly just eating. The food warmed you completely, both in body and soul. While you were eating, though, you were once again aware of how sore your body was and how exhausted you felt.

“Go lay back down,” Peter urged as you finished eating. “I’ll clean up.”

“I can—”

“Remember what I said?” he interrupted gently.

“Um?”

“You’re not allowed to argue with me when you look so cute, now go get some more rest. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

You huffed out your acquiescence and shuffled back to the couch. You sat on it this time, to avoid falling asleep, and scrolled through your phone aimlessly. Your sitting position did not, however, stop your eyes from drooping, nor your mouth from yawning.

“Y/N, I’m done—” Peter cut off as he saw you dozing on the couch again. This time, though, you _were_ only dozing, and your head snapped up to look at him.

“Sorry, Peter, for being so useless tonight,” you yawned.

Peter sat down next to you and pulled your leg into his lap. He absently massaged it through your leggings as he said, “No, you’re not useless, Y/N. You’re never useless. You’re wonderful and always exactly as you need to be, by being you.”

You nearly purred at the sensation of the massage, even as your eyes filled with tears. “Th-thanks, Peter, that means a lot,” you stuttered.

He smiled at you and then looked at the time. The feeling of him pressing into the muscles of your calf was making you even more drowsy.

“Hey, Y/N?” Peter roused you slightly.

“Yes?” you asked, opened your eyes wide to try to wake up.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked tenderly with shining brown eyes.

“You don’t have to, Peter,” you said, waking up a bit more. “I can handle the rest of the night. It’s all up to you, though.”

Peter sighed heavily through his nose, causing your eyebrows to furrow in concern. He leaned into your couch and sighed again, drawing it out into a groan and squeezing his eyes shut.

“What’s wrong?” you couldn’t help but ask. You pulled your legs underneath you and leaned forward to put a concerned hand on his shoulder.

Peter opened his eyes and you realized how close you were to him. You leaned back a little but kept your hand in place. He gave you a smile, though it wasn’t an overly happy one.

“I don’t wanna leave,” he explained slowly, “but I probably should so that I don’t neglect my duties around the house before game night.” Another sigh escaped his lips.

“Aw,” you cooed, “it’s so sweet of you to be concerned, but I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not concerned,” he said, then hurried to say, “well, I mean, I am concerned, but that’s not why I want to stay.” He then blushed as he said, “I just like spending time with you, Y/N, that’s why I want to stay.”

You felt your blood rushing as your body reacted to his words. In a poor attempt to hide how sheepish you were, you said, “Peter, that’s sweet, but if you gotta go, you gotta go.”

He heaved another sigh, this one obviously meant to be overly dramatic, and pushed himself to his feet. You followed suit even as he shambled to the front door. It was easy to chuckle at his dramatics, and that seemed to be his goal as he grinned at you.

“Peter?” you prompted him as he pulled on his shoes and got ready to go.

“Yes, Y/N?” His brown eyes would be so easy to get lost in…

“Well, I just wanted to say, well, thank you. You were really there for me today, and you didn’t have to, so… thank you. I really appreciate it.” You chuckled quietly before you continued, “I’ve never really had a friend quite like you, Peter. It’s a new experience for me.”

Peter was quiet for a moment as he patted his pockets to be sure he had everything. Then, he turned and beamed at you. “I’m happy to be your friend, and to be your friend the way I am. I’ll always be there for you, Y/N. Let me know if you need anything and I’ll be over before you know it, mmkay?”

You nodded. “Thank you again, Peter.”

“No need to thank me. I’ll see you tomorrow for game night?” he confirmed as he stood in the threshold of the front door.

“Yep!” you chirped happily. “Bye, Peter.”

Steeling yourself a final time, you bounced forward and kissed his cheek before he was completely out of the apartment. You could see his blush as the door shut, and after a few moments, you heard his footsteps walk away.

You locked your door and made sure everything was off before plugging in your phone and curling up on your comfortable couch. Sleep came easily that night.

The next day, you woke up with aches pulsing all over your body. What had woken you up was a phone call from Edith.

_“Y/N, I swear to all the saints and gods, if you come to work today, I’ll fire you on the spot,”_ Edith said in lieu of a greeting. _“Well, I won’t fire you, but I _will_ force you to do what you find to be the most boring work possible: math theory books.”_

“Edith,” you chuckled, blinking the sleep from your eyes, “if you had waited another hour, I would’ve called in. My alarm isn’t set to go off for another hour.”

_“Oh,”_ she breathed out, the fire she had built up dying quickly. _“Oh. Okay then. Well, how are you feeling? Did you get home okay? Charlie filled me in, since Arthur isn’t coming in and is still asleep. Do you need to talk about it?”_

You chuckled under your breath as you managed to heave yourself into a semi-upright position. It shot pain through your midsection, but it quickly left. “I’m okay. They patched me up and gave me painkillers. My friend helped me out last night. I’m mostly just sore right now, and still exhausted.”

_“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,”_ Edith informed you. _“And, well, while what you did wasn’t necessarily _wise,_ it was smart, and I’m proud of you for being brave.”_

“Thanks, Edith,” you said as emotion tightened your chest. Edith had been like a mother-figure to you ever since you got the job; hearing her say something like that was very sweet and _very_ necessary.

_“Don’t come back into work until Wednesday, okay? And no doing work from home! This is part of your paid time off; it’s about time you start using those days anyway, kid.”_

“Thank you, Edith,” you repeated warmly. “I’ll only read for pleasure this weekend and I’ll be sure to relax as best as I am able.”

_“Good!”_ Edith said firmly. After a pause, she continued, _“Go back to sleep, okay? Let me know if you need anything and I’ll be right over.”_

You chuckled in response. “I will, Edith. Thank you.”

_“You’re welcome. See you Wednesday.”_

“See you Wednesday,” you agreed, hanging up the phone.

You stretched out on the couch again, proud of your choice last night. You knew that if you had slept in your bed, you would be unable to get up without considerable pain. And, well, your couch _was_ incredibly comfortable. Your bed was comfortable too, but not in a way that would make it a good idea for you to sleep there with your aching body.

After another strike of pain ran up and down your spine, you kicked your legs over the edge of the couch. With your body protesting loudly, and some of the protests making it out of your mouth in the form of grunts and groans, you managed to get up, open your curtains, and go to the kitchen.

As you made some toast and tea so you could take some painkillers and head back to sleep, you heard tapping on your window.

You leaned over the breakfast bar and scanned the windows, expecting to see the crows that you had befriended. Instead, you saw Spider-Man sitting on your fire escape and tapping on the window.

With a roll of your eyes, you crossed to that window and opened it. You could tell that Spider-Man was grinning under his mask as you managed to climb out the window and onto the fire escape, despite your body protesting.

“Hello again, Spider-Man,” you greeted him. “You’re here early.”

“Well,” the obviously altered voice began, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Ah.”

“I was busy last night, so I couldn’t make it,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that was strangely familiar. “How are you feeling?”

You sighed slightly and shrugged a shoulder. “I’m making some breakfast so I can take some painkillers and sleep for a few more hours.”

“What, uh, what are you doing tonight?” he asked sheepishly.

“Why, Spider-Man? Are you going to ask me on a date or something?” you flirted lightly, feeling that it was harmless. Well, if _that_ could even be _considered_ flirting, since you didn’t think you were very good at flirting at all.

“N-no!” he stuttered with his white eyes wide as he looked away. “I was just curious. It’s, uh, just a question. It’s Friday, you know, and I was just—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him with a laugh. “I was just teasing. I’m going over to a friend’s place for game night.”

“Is this that same friend as the one you talked to me about?” he asked, his mask shifting in a way that told you he was wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yes,” you replied, crossing your arms over your stomach in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “I kissed his cheek last night,” you admitted quietly.

“Ooo, spicy!” he chuckled, sounding weird with the voice changer.

“Shut up,” you muttered. “He was really sweet last night, and he was really flirty, I think. It made me feel… special.” You sighed and curled into yourself slightly. “He’s just being nice,” you reasoned. “I don’t think a guy like _him_ would be capable of liking a gal like _me_ romantically… or sexually.”

“Now _why_ would you say _that_?” Spider-Man demanded angrily, making you jump in surprise. “And furthermore, how would you even _know_ that?”

“I-I, well,” you stuttered, curling in again and looking away from him. “I just have a feeling, okay? And people aren’t really… interested in me… like that. Never have been. I’m just not… attractive and not interesting in a long-lasting way. That’s what all my exes have said, anyway, and… no one’s ever told me otherwise, no one outside of my close friend group. D-don’t get me wrong, I _am_ trying to be better with my self-esteem, but… I’ve kinda given up on relationships. I’m just not made for them.”

Spider-Man let out a rather uncharacteristic growl, making you start again. “Your exes are garbage and I should beat them up for the way they obviously treated you. Those people don’t get to dictate what other people think of you.” Spider-Man suddenly took you by the shoulders. “Listen, Y/N, you are wonderful, okay? What those people said about you is wrong, because you are incredibly attractive and incredibly interesting, okay? Okay?”

You blinked in surprise at his serious tone, and the way his eyes had narrowed as he looked at you. After another moment, you nodded, not completely believing him, but feeling a little bit better about yourself.

“I-I… I’d better get going,” Spider-Man said after a few more heartbeats. “I should let you get back to your breakfast and your painkillers. Have fun tonight.”

“Thanks, Spider-Man,” you smiled gently.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N,” he informed you as you stood up with aching limbs. He shot a web and stared at you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he stepped forward on the fire escape and there was a strange sensation on your forehead. Spider-Man had pressed a kiss to your forehead through the mask. It was a little strange, but not unwelcome.

“Bye, Spider-Man, stay safe,” you said as a way to hide your sudden shyness.

“You too, Y/N,” Spider-Man said sincerely, tugging on the web he’d shot and swinging away. You watched for another moment as he disappeared around a building.

After cramming your body back through your window, you shut and locked it again. You slowly meandered back to the kitchen and crunched on your toast, deep in thought.

Spider-Man _and_ Peter seemed to enjoy kissing your forehead. You sighed and just chalked it up to the kindness of sweet people. It seemed to be the only reasonable explanation for that sort of affection to be directed at you.

You finished your toast and took a painkiller with a swig of your tea. Settling back onto the couch, you turned the TV on for background noise and set an alarm. You desperately needed a shower before game night, but you also desperately needed more sleep.

As you were falling asleep, you got a text from Peter asking how you were feeling. You tiredly replied with a thumbs up emoji and a triple Z emoji. Your eyes drooped fully shut as you got a winky-kissy emoji from Peter in reply.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of injuries

You woke up to your alarm and groggily pressed snooze. After pressing snooze twice, you sat up with muscles that protested, but nowhere near as loudly as they had that morning. The TV was asking if you were still watching, so you pressed the yes button and stood up.

Checking your phone, you padded to the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle again. There were a few messages, to your surprise.

Monica had texted you multiple times, demanding to know how you were and why you weren’t responding. You realized with a wince that you’d forgotten to tell her about the entire _incident_ the previous day.

The other messages were from Peter, asking you about your snack preferences. They were more recent, thankfully, so you replied to those first.

As you crossed to your room and debated what clothes to wear, you called your best friend. You were unsurprised when she answered on the first ring.

_“What the fuck, Y/N?”_ she demanded immediately.

“Listen, Monica—”

_“No, no, you listen!”_ she interrupted you. _“I was scrolling through some apps last night, and I saw a news clip of Spider-Man, and there you were! You were right there! And I saw you afterward, covered in cuts and bits of glass! What the fuck happened?”_

You sighed and gave a quick overview, knowing that Monica was squeamish when it involved injuries. She started squealing with excitement as you told her that Peter came to keep you company, and that he made dinner for you. When you told her that you needed her help picking an outfit for game night, Monica was immediately facetiming you.

_“What are we looking at?”_ Monica demanded as your face appeared.

“A casual night, meeting his aunt and best friend,” you explained. “We gotta go quick, though, because I really want a shower. Like, I think it’ll make my body feel so much better.”

_“Of course. What about that Spider-Man shirt you have? And some leggings, that one black pair that you totally rock.”_

“But that’s a crop top,” you argued quietly. “Not much of one, but it is…”

_“Do it, you rock that shirt,”_ Monica encouraged you. _“Besides, it’s casual, you’ll fit in perfectly! And, if I remember correctly, it’s a super comfy shirt.”_

“Of course, you remember correctly,” you chuckled as you pulled it out, “you bought it for me, remember?”

_“I do,”_ she beamed at you.

“Okay, love, I’m gonna get in the shower. I’ve got it from here.”

_“Alright, hot stuff,”_ Monica winked, _“don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”_

You raised a brow at her, causing her to cackle and quickly blow a kiss to you through the screen. With a quick goodbye, she hung up.

The hot water from the shower was _amazing_. It made everything feel just a little bit better, the muscles in your body nearly melting upon first water contact.

After one of the best showers you ever had, you dried off and inspected your bandages. You were thankful that you had plenty of bandages, because you felt a bit more comfortable with clean bandages on your cuts. There were only a few that looked like they were still a bit oozy.

You got dressed, incredibly happy that your muscles were arguing less, and put on just a little bit of mascara. Then, after making sure you had everything, you slipped your shoes on and began your walk to Peter’s apartment. He didn’t live super far away, and you realized as you checked your phone that you were thirty minutes early.

Instead of going into the building, you continued past it and into the flower shop right next door. You adored that flower shop; they always had the nicest and freshest blooms for the season. And their prices were very fair. You’d been visiting the shop since you moved to the city; at first you’d wandered upon it, but then you made some fast friends.

You waved to Sofia, the owner, and signed, “Hello, Sofia. How are you?”

“Great! Business is great,” she signed back, giving you the brightest grin. “What do you need today?” Suddenly, her eyes zoned in on the bandages on your arm and face. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Just a small incident with some broken glass. I’m fine, I promise. It doesn’t even hurt. I need something for a friend’s aunt,” you explained. “She’s like a mother to him. I’m thinking something not too big, with bright colors. Maybe some tulips and daffodils?”

“Okay, well, as long as you’re okay. Tell me, what’s she like?"

You paused for a moment, trying to think about what you could say. “I haven’t met her,” you signed, “but I’ve heard only good things.”

“What’s her kid like?” Sofia asked. “Name?”

You quickly spelt Peter’s name with your fingers and Sofia grinned. “Oh, is he nice?”

“He’s very sweet,” you informed her, “almost like candy.”

Sofia wiggled her eyebrows at you and held up a finger to pause the conversation. You waited patiently as she walked farther into her shop, obviously on a mission for the bouquet she had in mind. After she didn’t show up for another two minutes, you turned and began to admire the day-old bouquets behind you.

You turned back as Sofia approached with a simple bouquet in her hands. There were orange tulips and yellow daffodils, arranged artfully. Without asking, Sofia put them in a simple vase with a bit of water; she tied a yellow bow around it and showed it to you with pride shining in her eyes.

“It’s perfect!” you cheered, emphatically signing your admiration and appreciation. “You are so talented, Sofia!”

She waved you off playfully, a grin on her lips. “I hope they all like them.”

You paid the woman, noting that she knocked the price down for you; you shoved a twenty-dollar bill in her tip jar when her back was turned. Sofia handed you the receipt and gave you a sly smile.

“Tell me about Peter,” she urged, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s really sweet, an artist,” you explained. At her look, you cut her off. “He’s just a friend, Sofia. I’m about to go over to his game night with his roommate and aunt.”

“That sounds like fun. Is he cute, do you like him?”

Your eyes went wide at her blunt question and her laughter made it obvious that she already knew the answer. “He’s a wonderful person,” you informed her, trying not to give more away. Sofia could always see through anything, though.

“You like him,” she signed with a wicked grin. “You do!”

“He’s my friend!” you protested, rolling your eyes. “Speaking of Peter, I need to get going to game night.”

“Fine, fine, I hope you get some!” Sofia signed quickly.

Your blood rushed at her words. Instead of gracing her with a response, you stuck your tongue out at her and bid her a goodbye. Her laughter followed you out of the shop.

You bustled to the apartment building next door, holding the flowers close to your nose. They smelt divine.

The person in the lobby recognized you and gave you a wide smile. You waved at him and went straight to the elevator. It was a smooth ride up, and as you adjusted your arm, you felt a twinge of pain. Perhaps you should’ve taken some ibuprofen before you left…

You got off the elevator and walked to Peter’s door. You were ten minutes early, but that was okay. After going through a mental checklist, you nodded to yourself and finally knocked on the door. There was an urge to rock on your feet to get your nerves out, but you managed to curb that urge.

The door opened and you were met with Peter, a breathless smile on his face; as he looked at your shirt, he blushed bright red. Right behind him were two people, each peering around the man to get a look. You found yourself essentially giggling with mirth at the sight of two heads crowding in with Peter’s, nearly pushing the man over. It was downright hilarious to you, and you had to turn away from the door to try to quiet your chortling.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed to get out, constantly interrupted by your own giggles, “I’m sorry, it’s just so funny, you’re all smushed together like that!”

Peter started chuckling with you, and after another minute, you turned back around. He was still at the door, the most adorable smile on his face, the blush still prominent (you had no idea _why_ he was blushing, but it was super cute). The people that had been behind him were gone, but you could hear them talking in the apartment.

“Sorry,” you chuckled lightly.

“Hey, I love your laugh, so please, laugh away,” he grinned at you.

Your blood seemed to sing as you finally followed him in. Standing by the dining room table was a woman, one you assumed was May Parker.

“Y/N,” Peter began, “this is my Aunt May. And in the kitchen is Ned.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled a bit shyly at the woman. You held the flowers out. “I had some extra time before coming here, so I got you these flowers. I hope you like them. I-I know it might be a little weird, but I’m very fond of your nephew, and he speaks so highly of you. Besides, surprise flowers are nice,” you explained nervously.

“Thank you so much!” May beamed at you, coming forward and taking the vase from your hands. She wrapped one arm around you in a surprise hug and then kissed your cheek. When she pulled back, her smile was wider, and she sniffed the flowers. “Peter was right when he said you’re a sweet woman.”

You blood warmed slightly and you shifted on your feet. “Peter is really sweet, too.”

“I know, such a good kid,” May said adoringly. “Well, are you ready for game night?”

“Just how intense is it supposed to get?” you asked with a grin.

“Depends on how much you can handle.”

“What are we playing?”

“Thought we’d start with _Monopoly_.”

Your grin widened. “Oh yeah, I can definitely handle that intensity.”

“A girl after my own heart. By the way, I love your shirt, it’s super cute and on-brand for this family,” May told you as she wrapped her arm around your shoulder and steered you to the dining room table, where the game was already set up.

“I swear to fucking god, Peter, if you put another hotel there, I _will_ flip this table!” Ned was yelling ninety minutes later.

“What about you, buying all utilities?” Peter shot back, his eyes full of fire.

“It’s only because Y/N bought all the airports!”

“That’s how the game works!” you and May joined in simultaneously.

“You’re just jealous that I got all the red spaces!” Peter yelled to Ned.

“Because you _know_ I love the red spaces!” Ned shouted.

“That’s _why_ I got them! Payback, bitch!”

“Oh, so this is payback for the time I decided to play as the dog because you were running late again?”

“Yes!”

You glanced at May and erupted into laughter. Despite the semi-harsh words being said, you could see the amusement in both men’s eyes and the smiles on their faces. It was, all in all, incredibly amusing. The energy of the room was electric and warm, incredibly comforting in an unusual but not unwelcome way.

Ned and Peter stopped arguing as they heard your laughter. You were leaning back in your chair, your head tilted and your hand on your chest as you tried to calm your cackling. May joined in, and soon, so did Peter and Ned.

“I think I have a solution,” you informed them as your laughter sobered.

“Let me hear it,” Ned and Peter said simultaneously.

You grinned at them before quickly flipping the board over. Everything went flying and you immediately dissolved back into laughter at everyone’s shocked faces. Their mouths remained open and you continued to laugh as you cleaned up the board and put everything back in the box. The laughter had devolved into chuckles when May began to help you put stuff away, a bright smile on her face.

“I like you, Y/N. You fit right in,” she said frankly.

You smiled sheepishly as you organized the money.

When you turned to look at Ned and Peter, they were both turned away from the table, whispering to each other and glancing over their shoulders. As you raised an eyebrow at Peter, he immediately turned red and jerked his head back.

With a shrug, you discussed what movie to watch with May. You both agreed that it was probably a good idea to put a movie on and play a different game. May was suggesting _Cards Against Humanity,_ and you were seriously considering it. Of course, you were also weighing in the possibilities for total embarrassment with that particular game.

“Oh, what the hell, let’s do it!” you beamed, finding May’s cheer adorable.

Ned and Peter were still whispering while you helped May transfer all cups and food to the coffee table in the living room. You were setting everything up and they were _still_ whispering as May put on _Weird Science._

“Truly one of the great classics, May,” you informed her with an approving nod.

May nodded at you before giving you a pointed glance towards the boys. You gave a tiny nod of confirmation and walked over to them.

“Guys,” you stated loudly behind them, making Ned jump in surprise. “C’mon, it’s time for _Cards Against Humanity_ and _Weird Science._ Wanna make some popcorn?”

“S-sure,” Peter stuttered, his ears and cheeks bright red.

“What’s got you two all worked in a bunch?” you asked gently.

“I, um, I have to run into the office really quick,” Peter admitted in a rush.

“Oh,” you blinked in surprise. “Um, okay? Is that what you’ve been discussing?”

“Y-yeah,” Peter admitted, his blush getting deeper.

“Are you worried about me?” you asked gently.

“I just, it would be rude—”

“Hey, Peter, it’s okay,” you interrupted him tenderly. “Emergencies happen. It’s totally cool with me. Besides, I like Ned, and I’m ready to win all of May’s love for all eternity.” You leaned forward slightly and pretended to whisper, “I’m gonna be her favorite, Peter; I’m gunning for your spot.”

Peter and Ned laughed loudly at that before Peter jogged to his room to get something he needed for the office. Ned rushed to the kitchen to make some popcorn while you went to sit on the couch with May.

“So, May, Peter has to go to the office for some sort of emergency,” you informed the woman as you plopped onto the couch next to her.

“That happens a lot,” May shrugged a shoulder. “And you can call me Aunt May, Y/N. After all this stuff tonight, I’m pretty sure you’re one of mine now.”

You laughed brightly, trying to calm the excitement that coursed through your veins. It had been awhile since you had that sort of motherly affection, and you didn’t quite know what to do about it. But you decided that you would roll with it.

“Okay, gotta go, see you in a bit, bye!” Peter’s voice flashed by you as he ran to the front door and left loudly.

“That was… weird,” you muttered under your breath. “Figured he’d actually, y’know, face us to say goodbye.”

“Oh, he gets like that when there’s an emergency,” Aunt May explained casually.

“Y-yeah, sometimes he doesn’t even go out the door, he goes down the fire escape,” Ned said almost… _nervously._

As you watched the movie and casually played _Cards Against Humanity,_ occasionally taking photos of the really good plays to show Peter when he returned, you found yourself getting really comfortable with the other two people. When the movie was over, Aunt May popped in another comedy, _White Chicks._

About halfway through the movie, Aunt May decided to call it a night. She gave you a warm hug and a squeeze, telling you to wear the Spider-Man shirt more often with a wink. She gave Ned a squeeze and told either of you to give Peter a hug when he came back from the office. With another wave over her shoulder, Aunt May left.

Luckily, it wasn’t awkward with just Ned. You talked about both your jobs and your shared love of science fiction as the movie played. Ned even told you a few funny Peter stories that you soaked up with a vigor. When _White Chicks_ was over, Ned decided to pop one more movie in while waiting for Peter (he picked _Airplane_).

You found yourself nodding off slightly while the movie was playing. Between the worlds of awake and asleep, you stretched out on the couch a bit more. It was an incredibly comfortable couch, obviously easy to fall asleep on.

Not even halfway through _Airplane,_ Ned saw that you were sleeping peacefully. He figured that were still tired from the previous day, so he turned down the volume of the TV. After draping a blanket over your sleeping form, he went to bed.

Peter entered through the living room window cautiously. He could see that the TV was still on, so he didn’t want to alert you if you were still home, but _his_ window had been getting stuck and needed fixing.

Rolling through the window silently, Peter sprang up to see you asleep on the couch. The light from the TV, playing the menu screen for _Airplane_, was giving you a light blue glow. You looked absolutely _fantastic,_ but you also looked slightly uncomfortable as you used your arm as a pillow.

He took a step to you before remembering that he was still in his suit. Quickly changing into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, Peter lightly jogged to your sleeping form with a pillow in his hands.

“Y/N,” you heard a gentle voice prodding you awake. “Y/N, wake up.”

Groaning slightly, you managed to open your eyes and push up from your position slightly. To your slight surprise, you saw Peter kneeling next to you. The light from the TV was making him look _unfairly_ attractive, as was that damn tight white t-shirt.

“You’re too cute,” you muttered as you relaxed your arms to lay back down. “’S not fair that you’re so damn attractive,” you continued to mutter. “’S not fair to others that aren’t pretty, people like me.” A yawn stretched your lips and you smacked your lips.

Peter’s light chuckle floated to your ears. “You want a pillow, Y/N?”

You grumbled, making him laugh.

“C’mon, let’s get you more comfortable.”

“Are you comfy?” you mumbled.

“I mean, I’m kneeling on the floor.”

“Are you a comfy person?”

“I-I, I mean, I guess.”

“I’d rather use you than a pillow,” you admitted, still mostly asleep. “It’s cause ya look so comfy and cuddly.”

Peter chuckled again as you settled into your previous position. Your slightly opened eyes saw him biting his lip in thought before he nudged you over. You complied easily, scooting back until your back touched the back of the couch. You mused over the wideness of the couch and lifted slightly so Peter could snake his arm under your head.

He settled in next to you and you nuzzled closer and into his chest. You wrapped your leg over his and let out a small hum of comfort. Peter chuckled and you felt him hesitantly trail his hand down until it rested on your waist. With another hum, you felt yourself fall back into a deep, comfortable sleep.

You woke up slowly, feeling more rested and comfortable than you had in a long time. The night of sleep had been so nice, in fact, that you really didn’t want to continue to wake up. Still, you knew that you had to wake up eventually, so you opened your eyes.

Peter’s sleeping face was right in front of yours. His curly brown hair was falling across his forehead adorably, and the peaceful look on his face made you want to take a picture. You couldn’t do that, of course, because it wasn’t like you were his girlfriend or an actual artist like he was.

You couldn’t remember exactly what happened after you fell asleep the first time. As you memorized Peter’s sleeping face, you tried to recall how you came into this predicament. Peter’s arms holding you close did not go past you.

You let out a slight sigh and tried to squash the excitement that came when Peter let out a small grumble and tightened his hold on you.

A vague whisper of a memory came into your mind as you couldn’t help but bring your hand up to brush some of Peter’s hair off his forehead.

The memory told you that you’d mumbled some things that you would _not_ have said otherwise. Apparently, sleepy you had much more confidence and a _much_ smaller filter than fully aware and awake you. You felt your blood rush as your _boldness_ from your sleep-induced state came into your living memory.

As you played with Peter’s hair, you decided to not focus on the words you’d uttered. Instead, you focused on the softness of his hair and the smoothness of his skin. He was so peaceful, and your tender, hesitant touches seemed to make him relax even more.

Peter let out a sigh and pulled you ever closer. After another minute, and you tucking your arm back against your body, your gaze was met with Peter’s sleepy brown eyes.

“G’morning,” he murmured, giving you a squeeze. “You’re a really good cuddle buddy. So warm and soft and nice. Smell good too.”

You chuckled lightly before you nudged Peter slightly. “Sorry about last night,” you said quietly. “I didn’t know I’m so… _bold_ when I’m sleepy.”

Peter chuckled sleepily and the breath tickled your skin. “It’s alright,” he sighed happily. “I liked it. And I liked cuddling with you.”

“I did too,” you admitted shyly. “Peter?”

“Hm?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

Peter let out a dramatic groan before removing his arms and rolling over. He obviously forgot that he was on the couch, because he landed on the floor with a thud. You couldn’t stop the loud laughter that left you as his fluffy curls popped up while Peter glared at you for laughing at his plight.

You climbed over him, still laughing, and hurried to the bathroom. All the liquids you had ingested the night before had caught up with you, and you cursed your past self for causing your present self to have to leave Peter’s cuddles. Then again, you pondered as you washed your hands, you hadn’t expected to spend the night, nor to cuddle with Peter.

If you weren’t so relaxed and still sleepy, you’d probably be freaking out.

When you walked back out, you saw that Peter was sitting on a counter in the kitchen. He was typing on his phone and a pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen. As you entered the kitchen, you let out a groan of relief at the smell of the coffee.

“You should make that sound more often,” Peter informed you casually as he glanced up from his phone.

Your blood sang through your body and you decided to not comment on that. You texted Monica and told her that you planned on calling her later in the day, and a few minutes later, Peter was handing you a mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” you smiled at him.

“No problem. Thanks for inviting me to cuddle last night,” he smirked lightheartedly at you. “That was the best sleep of my _life_.”

You chuckled as you made your coffee the way you liked it. “I slept very well, too. Thank you, Peter. And thank you for being so cool about it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shrugging a shoulder, you sighed as you took your first sip of coffee. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “just… I don’t know. But I still appreciate it. I don’t always sleep the best, and it really was a nice sleep. So, thanks, Peter.”

“Hey, anytime. I seriously mean that, by the way,” he gave you a pointed look.

You barked out a laugh and nodded. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good!”

Peter offered you some toast, or a bagel, but you politely declined. At his concerned look, you explained that you weren’t normally hungry right after waking up. You also told him that you needed to get home and take a pain pill to get rid of the little ache you still felt in your body. He pouted but seemed to understand.

After you finished your coffee, you went to the bathroom and your hands through your hair to make sure it didn’t look too crazy for your short walk. Sure, it was NYC, but you didn’t like to stand out. Peter laughed and told you that your hair was fine, but at your sideways teasing glare, he chuckled even more and left you to fix it up.

“Okay, Peter, I’d better get going,” you announced as you entered the living room.

Peter was adorably curled on the couch with a sketchbook in his lap. You pretended to peer around his shoulder to see what he was working on, but he held it to his chest and gave you a fake glare. He relaxed as you chuckled and stood up.

“Okay, well, thank you for having me over,” you said as you walked to the door.

“What are you thanking me now for? I’m walking you home,” Peter chuckled as he followed you to the door.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I’m walking you,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.

You didn’t argue and instead let him lead the way out of his apartment.

The walk to your apartment was brief but nice. The coolness of the morning air was refreshing, and Peter kept up a casual stream of conversation that you eagerly participated in.

Almost too soon, you reached your building and turned to Peter. He grinned at you and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you, Peter,” you said softly, changing the whole dynamic around you. You felt a bit vulnerable with the shift you caused, but you pushed on. “I had a really great time. It really took my mind off of things, and I really appreciate you inviting me into your life. I feel… honored to have met some of the people most important to you. Thank you.”

Peter’s smile was tender and made your heart dance. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m really happy you got to meet Ned and Aunt May, and that you get along so well with them. I know I had to leave, but I’m really, really glad you had such a great time. Aunt May was texting me and telling me that you’re her favorite now, so… lucky you, I guess,” he pretended to pout.

You laughed and shifted your weight a bit. “She’s a wonderful woman, and she raised a wonderful man. I know you’ll always be her actual favorite, but I’m gonna soak up that title for as long as I can.”

The atmosphere had shifted again, and you felt less vulnerable. Still, you felt good; you didn’t feel guilt at sharing your feelings the way you sometimes did.

“Well, I’d better let you get back to your Saturday,” you announced, wincing internally at the awkwardness of the announcement.

“Y-yeah,” Peter agreed, giving you a smile that perhaps had a tinge of sadness.

“I’ll, uh, see you soon? If you want?”

“Yeah, definitely!” His eagerness made your heart do a little Irish jig. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I know you’re still sore from the other day.”

“Of course. You too, Peter. I mean, any excuse to see you again, am I right?” Your face heated as you realized what you said. “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe, okay? Tell Ned I said thank you for letting him into his home, and that it was nice to meet him,” you plowed on quickly. “Anyway, thanks again, Peter. Stay safe!”

Before you realized what you were doing, you stepped forward and kissed his cheek before retreating inside. You didn’t look back as you rushed to the building door, much too focused on dealing with your river dancing heart. When you glanced at him from the door, you saw the brightest, happiest smile you had ever seen.

Your river dancing heart slowed down at the sight of his smile. Warmth filled your body and your muscles relaxed. With one more smile at him, you went inside.

As soon as you entered your apartment, you slid down the door and onto the floor. Your smile was almost hurting your face with how long it had been there.

No matter the ache in your face, you didn’t want this feeling to fade.


End file.
